


contemporary sentiment

by weatheredlaw



Series: from each brave eye [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Murder Mystery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4291872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is using Varric's newest novel as an inspiration for murder, and it does not go unnoticed. Lives on the line, Varric joins forces with the Left and Right Hands of the Divine to take down the killer, all the while trying to juggle past loves and a life he's tried so hard to leave behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of a ten chapter mystery, which started as something so much bigger, and has morphed into this bizarre mutant that is sure to become part of a series.

_"It is objected that 'life is not like that' As if it were not, to all right-thinking persons, a triumphant matter that Evil be exposed in human form, and murderers — or murderesses — be brought to justice; and the fundamental coherence of the Universe confirmed."_ \-- Joyce Carol Oates, on mystery novels

* * *

It had been a singularly awful night, and it had started, as many of Varric's worst nights often did, with Bianca Davri.

For the record, Varric had never held a grudge against anyone longer than the grudge he'd held against Bianca. He measured them, lined them up and compared it all to the amount of time it had taken him to be able to finally say her name without _choking_ , because it had taken a very, _very_ long time. Of all the nice surface girls who could have ripped out his heart, Bianca seemed uniquely adept at finding him in his weakest moments and reminding him that they could have been something _extraordinary_ , if only things like caste and family and assassins hadn't gotten in the way. Modernity did not seem to stop her relatives from sending men in long coats with switchblades to his apartment at two in the morning all those years ago, and he doubted very much that it would stop them all these years later.

Tonight, she was lingering at an old haunt of theirs, a beer in one hand, texting her husband with the other. Varric sat down next to her and they drank together in silence. After a while, she turned to him and said, "Sometimes I think of leaving him for you," and then she kissed him.

She sounded sad when she said it, and was probably already drunk, so Varric pulled away, resting his forehead on her shoulder and taking the glass from her hand. "Let me get you a cab home," he murmured, and pressed his lips to her temple. She was loose against him, but sober enough to get herself into the car and give the cabbie her address. She didn't say anything else to Varric, who already had one foot headed back to the bar as he waved her off. 

His worst nights always seemed to start with Bianca, and they typically ended with Bianca, too. They stretched into the early morning, when he would turn to her in bed and try to say something clever, but all that could come out was, "You should go," right as she was getting up to find her clothes. 

Before he could step back inside, and as Varric wondered briefly how the night could get worse _without_ Bianca, he felt something smooth slide against his arm, with just the slightest hint of pain, and sturdy hands fell back to meet him as he collapsed.

 

 

 

What Varric succeeded at doing early in his career was writing about food.

He had made a living for himself writing fluff pieces for the _Kirkwall Daily_ , enjoying the life of a young, social reporter who could make Margot Marcelle's ninety-ninth birthday sound like one of Celine's galas. He was talented, and he knew it, but the bit pieces always left him hungry for more. During one summer when it seemed that no one in Hightown was doing anything of interest other than sweating out the hottest summer on record -- Varric set out to hit every street vendor in town, and then write about it. It was the summer of indigestion, of dragging Hawke and Daisy and everyone he could convince around town, eating in questionable alley ways and throwing up in front of fancy apartment buildings.

It was the summer he wrote a book, published a book, and got his picture in the window of Geventi's, a Hightown bookshop with the sort of clientele that could afford to pay other people to shop for them. Varric moved out of his two bedroom apartment he'd been sharing with his absent brother into something cheaper, but nicer. It was the summer he gave up on some things and started believing in others. 

After that there were other books. Tales of finding the perfect cup of coffee in Val Royeaux to accompany the perfect pan au chocolat. The meat that fought back in Haven, the traditional Dalish dishes that he was served and sworn to secrecy over the exact ingredients they contained. The time he was told he was eating halla meat when he wasn't, and that eventful winter when he discovered exactly what dragon tasted like, and exactly how hard it was to acquire. 

Eventually, Varric unearthed his frayed composition book from the only creative writing class he'd taken at university and rediscovered someone who had been hiding for many years. Donnen Brennokovic slid off the pages of his college notebook and into his first work of fiction like it was always meant to be. Short stories and other novels followed, punctuated by the steady stream of books about food, about contemporary dwarven history. His bestseller last year was a history of crime in Kirkwall. It made an excellent introduction to his fourth book in the _Hard in Hightown_ series, which was currently resting nicely at the top of the bestseller list, Ferelden-wide, and only second in Orlais after the unofficial biography of the empress.

 _Murder Most Holy_ was Varric's fictional masterpiece, and he knew in his old age, he'd tell whoever asked that it was his best work, even though its successors hadn't been written yet. He loved the cover, he loved the ending, he loved what he had learned about himself while writing it. The book was important to him for so many reasons, and when he finally awoke in an unfamiliar place with a painful crick in his neck, it was sitting on the table in front of him.

Someone had put a knife through it. 

"This is _yours_ , isn't it?" A cool voice sounded from behind him, but moved too fast for Varric to find the source. "I found it in your home this evening, so I'm assuming I'm right." A hand rested on his shoulder, then vanished. It was a woman's voice, with an accent Varric couldn't place. She sounded wounded, insulted even, that the book was his. After a few minutes of circling behind him, she slid into view, and Varric finally got a good look at his surroundings.

He was in the Chantry, from the looks of the paintings on the wall. Mostly likely the basement. The light was an unearthly fluorescent, nothing like the gold that seemed to shine on everything in the main building. It was cold, and a little damp. The woman leaned forward and pulled her knife from the book.

Varric huffed. "That was unnecessary."

"Tell me about this book," the woman said. She turned it over in her hands, flipping through the pages. "Tell me what _inspired_ you." 

"How about you tell me who you are and why the hell I'm tied to a chair." Varric's hands had started to go numb. "Because I'm not feeling too chatty right now."

"Speechless? It must be a first." She sighed and tossed the book onto the table. "I am Cassandra Pentaghast. I am a Seeker of Truth--"

"Right Hand of the Divine," Varric said. "Damn."

"Indeed." 

"I'm, uh, honored? I think? Not entirely sure, you've sort of tripped me up here." He leaned back, trying to appear as much relaxed as he was nervous as hell, wondering if he'd finally crossed a line. The book didn't cast the Chantry in a positive light, that was for sure, but he didn't think it would personally offend the Divine. He'd made up a fake Divine, a completely different woman, nothing at all like Justinia--

"Let me show you something." The Seeker gave Varric a smile that was certainly not meant to be reassuring -- it made him nervous and sick and a little sad -- and dropped a folder onto a table. "Two photos. You tell me if they seem...familiar to you." She drew out the first and set it in front of Varric, who was grateful he hadn't eaten before someone decided to kidnap him. A Brother, splayed out and gutted, his eyes forced open to stare ahead at a statue of Andraste that was smeared with his blood. The other was of a Sister, killed in a similar way, but forced onto her knees in prayer, her head bowed with a great sword protruding from her back.

It all might have been enough to make Varric sick on the table, if he hadn't been the one who'd written it first.

"Andraste's tits," he muttered. "Tell me what's happening here."

"Actually, I was hoping you could tell me."

Varric balked. "You think I did this? You think--"

Cassandra laughed and took the photos away. "You? Use your own work to commit gruesome, hateful murders? Please, I didn't bring you here because I think you're harboring sociopathic tendencies. I brought you here because I wanted to know where the idea came from. What made you write this in particular, and how I might find the person to whom this book speaks." She tapped it. Her nails were short and blunt, Varric noted, and she probably cut them every day to keep them that way. She was clean and pressed and tidy, and everything about her screamed perfection at the sake of interaction. She was beautiful in a strange way, the way guns or war could be elegant. Her hair was styled in a short, severe cut, save for the braided circlet wrapped around her head. Varric knew he wasn't meant to find her attractive, or to flatter or flirt. He was meant to fear her.

"I have no idea what you mean, Seeker."

She growled. " _This_ idea! It couldn't have come from _nowhere_. Tell me what you know."

"I put a lot of research into this novel. Lot of time and work. You want me to just regurgitate every fact that inspired it?" Varric laughed. "Look, I get that you're spooked. I don't know when this happened, or where--"

"Last night," she said. "Right here in Kirkwall. They were killed in their own homes. Like the victims in your book."

"Some kind of lazy copycat killer."

"I'd hardly call a double murder _lazy_ ," she said dryly. They were making jokes now. Not the time, but still. Progress was being made. "I'm not asking you to look into the mind of a would-be serial killer. If we're lucky, we can use what you know to simply stop them before this goes any further. It's why we haven't come forward with the deaths," she added.

"It could spook them into stopping."

"And into hiding." Cassandra stood and nodded to someone. A guard came and cut the ropes around Varric's wrists. "You are hereby under the employment, protection, and mercy of the Divine Justinia. This is a non-negotiable position, and you will assist us as is necessary until we have completed the task at hand." She paused, her memorization of the passage likely faltering. Sighing, she said, "But you can say _no_ , I suppose. It's an old rite," she added. 

"Very dramatic. I like it."

"It's ancient, but required." She adjusted her jacket and folded her hands behind her back. "You will help us then?" 

Varric sighed and looked at her. She was...desperate, he supposed. Underneath that bravado, she was scared, Varric could tell. Murder didn't wash over anyone lightly, and if the Divine had sent her Right Hand to _Kirkwall_ , of all places, to talk to _him_ \-- there was desperation in every level, it would seem. Varric had the research at home, he knew where his own inspiration came from, though he didn't like counting the killer as clever as he was, and didn't think whoever did this would have the wherewithal or initiative to do the kind of digging Varric had done last year at the University in Orlais. Stifling hot in the library with a warm bottle of water and thick gloves on to keep the documents clean -- 

"Varric." She said his name for the first time that evening, and Varric found it was a strange mix of distaste and arousal he felt when it rolled off her tongue. As if she could not help but seduce him, even as she detested him, which he was certain she did. He could feel it.

"I'll help you," he said. "Just don't ever fucking tie me up again."


	2. Chapter 2

_"Historically, the crime rate in Kirkwall could not be subdued by its police force. Corruption, power vacuums, and a high turnover in leadership positions had left past iterations of the department underfunded, understaffed, and rife with challenges. Each new captain brought a new set of rules, but they were built upon a weak foundation. Eleven years ago, the academy produced the smallest graduating class in its history, and the number of reported violent crimes in Lowtown skyrocketed, while the number of cases prosecuted reached all time lows. Hightown experienced an increase in the rate of violent crimes that was almost as high as the number of reported thefts. It seemed, for a time, that Kirkwall was dissolving into a state of anarchy. And then, seven years ago, Captain Aveline Vallen quietly became appointed the Chief of Police. Six months later, Kirkwall experienced a 210% drop in reported crimes across the board."_  
\-- excerpt from _The Calm Before the Storm: a history of Kirkwall's police force_ , by Varric Tethras

* * *

Six in the morning usually found Varric still in bed, catching at least another hour of sleep. He wasn't a late riser, but he had standards, and he liked to adhere to the rules of his solitary existence as strictly as he could. This morning, however, things were quite different.

He was wide awake, sitting at his kitchen table and sipping a particularly strong cup of tea that had been made by Cassandra, who had seen fit to let herself in and rouse him out of bed at almost five thirty in the morning. How she had gotten in, Varric didn't know, and he wasn't pleased.

"The Seekers need only a handful of hours to rest," she told him, sitting down with a plate of greasy sausages and eggs. It was all she could find in his fridge, apart from a lonely banana on the counter, and she was not impressed. She rolled the food around on her plate before giving up and pouring cream liberally into her tea. "We will need as many hours of daylight to work as possible."

"And yet, the sun still isn't up," Varric muttered before crossing the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. "How about the next time you want to come over at the asscrack of dawn, you give me a call?"

"I did," she said, deadpan. "Where will we start today?"

"You just jump right in, don't you?" Cassandra ignored him. "You won't be happy, you know. I haven't horded mountains of research anywhere with your psycho killer's name written on it. It's fiction, you do know that." 

"Do not patronize me. We have a significant amount of work to do, and you aren't helping." She stood and walked over to one of the bookshelves. Varric's own works only occupied a shelf or two, the rest brimming with novels by his favorite authors, some he had received at conferences or shows, signed with a flourish. His most prized possessions, right there for her to see. "I've brought notes for us to review," she said quietly, sipping her tea. "But I am worried we won't be able to act quickly enough."

"You think they'll kill again soon?"

"I am concerned, yes."

Varric poured himself a cup of coffee and led her into the living room. "You know how the book ends, right?" Cassandra nodded. "You looked into any cults lately? Someone who might have a beef with the chantry? Copycat killer who's also a member of a cult. Sounds like the kind of guy I'd expect to do this."

"You assume it is a man."

"Serial killers usually are."

Cassandra shrugged, pulling her cursory folder from her bag and putting it on the coffee table. "I will make no assumptions until I have further proof to implicate one gender or another. That being said, I understand your reasoning. Tell me what you have, and we'll see where we need to start."

Varric smiled. "Show me mine, show me yours, huh?" Cassandra did not laugh. "Yeah, alright." He set his mug down and went into his study. He tended not to file or label much of his research, opting to dump it into the nearest basket or drawer. It took a few minutes to find the one he'd used last time around, and when he brought it out, the Seeker looked at it with pure, unadulterated disgust. "Uh, tah dah?"

" _Maker_ , what is this?"

"My research."

She looked at him. "You keep it _here?_ "

"As opposed to..."

"As opposed to somewhere _safe_ , somewhere organized. This is absurd! What level of professionalism are you operating at, how do you get anything written at all?"

"Very carefully."

Cassandra stood, her neck red with anger, and it almost made Varric flinch. Almost.

"You aren't going to take this seriously, are you? Two people are _dead_ , and you have the gall to _jest_ with me in light of all this. You think you're _clever?_ Do you think it makes you smarter than me because you simply do not _care?_ "

"Don't put words in my mouth, you invited yourself in! You asked for my research and here it is, I'm giving it to you. You were the one who said I could say _no_ , that I could refuse to participate at all! I'm telling you what I know, I'm giving you everything. I _want_ to help." Varric took a breath. "Someone took my book, my _favorite_ book, and turned it into a shitshow." He looked at her. "Someone took all the work I'd done to make it all a story worth telling and ended two lives. Don't you think that I want to make sure it doesn't happen again?"

Cassandra faltered, her mouth opening and closing before she finally said, "Maker forgive me. I didn't think--"

"Naturally."

"Shut up. I didn't think that you...you would _care_ the way...I do."

"Rookie mistake. Don't beat yourself up about it." He dug into the basket as Cassandra sat back down. "I got the story from a researcher friend in Orlais, you know. The inspiration, anyway. There was a serial killer stalking the Chantry in Val Royeux. Had to have been a hundred years ago, and they never caught him. But he was the sole member of some defunct cult that had existed another hundred years before him. He killed sixteen people and made an attempt on the life of the Divine."

"Did they discover who it was?"

"He signed his letters _Q_."

"That's it?" Varric nodded. "Did you find anything else about him?"

"A few letters exchanged between him and a woman found at the scene of the final murder. I had them translated, but they were just love letters. No mention of magic or anything like that. He killed the revered Mother of a chantry in some village and then disappeared. I thought the story was sad, but it caught my attention. So I took it home and started writing." He pulled out a typed page. "My friend summarized one of the murders for me here. Five Mothers were killed over the course of five days, each different than the last."

"This isn't a direct translation?"

"No, I didn't have time for that. He skimmed it and gave me the gist."

"The _gist._ "

"I had a plane to catch, Seeker."

She threw her hands up. "Ah, of course. Maker forbid you take time to listen to an entire story not written or told by yourself. Not when the lives of actual human beings are on the line--"

"I was writing a _novel_. I wasn't planning on investigating the hypothetical future repercussions," he snapped. Maferath's _balls_ , she was making him crazy. Did he even need her here? Was she necessary to his work at this juncture in the investigation? "Why are you breathing down my neck about this anyway? You were the one who wanted a professional on the job."

"It is unfortunate that I did not get that," she said. 

"Look, Seeker. Why don't you just disappear from my life for a week, let me get something written up and organized for you, and we'll talk about it over tea, or something. Alright?" Varric held out a hand to make the deal, but Cassandra pressed her lips together in a thin line and looked at the floor. "What is it?"

"We do not have a week," she said quietly. "We have seventy-two hours."

 

 

 

According to Cassandra, the first person who had been informed about the Chantry deaths was Aveline Vallen. Aveline was a reluctant acquaintance and sometimes friend of Varric's through Hawke, and he had been on her bad side more often than her good too many times to count. She'd become chief of police seven years ago, and had cleaned up Kirkwall considerably in her time. Two deaths in one night did not go unnoticed by the woman who had cut the lyrium trade in half and foiled no less the eleven assassination attempts. She was considered a close personal friend of the Viscount, along with Knight-Commander Meredith, and Orsino, head of Kirkwall's Circle. She was also beautifully shrewd and to the point.

Only the Divine's orders kept Aveline and her force at bay. It was widely known that Chief Vallen did not consider the Chantry a close friend or ally, but was on good terms with Grand Cleric Elthina. They were of similar mind and had matching will powers, Varric always assumed. Aveline did not approve of keeping the death of the young Brother and Sister a secret, but had agreed to under one condition: that Cassandra and her people had seventy-two hours to come up with either a name, a reason, or something _good_. After that, she was going public, and her plan was to draw the killer out into the open. Serial killers, she said, do it all for the attention. Let them know you're watching, and they'll try it again.

"She would use them as _bait_ ," Cassandra said, and Varric could tell she was on the verge of tears, but he would never see them. "What does she know about the way the Chantry works? What does she know about their deaths?"

"She'd know more if you let her," Varric said quietly.

"Yes, defend her, as you would. Defend her and her entire force of brutes."

"My best friend is a detective under Aveline. They're a bright group of men and women, they wouldn't let you down."

"This is _personal_ ," Cassandra said quietly. "We have to take care of our own, and you have to help me."

"Them? Or you? What is this really about, Seeker?" He sat down next to her. "You think you can shoulder the burden of catching a serial killer on your own? Is that the kind of work the Divine's Right Hand does?"

"She has entrusted this to me. I cannot fail her."

"You're taking on an enormous risk, just to preserve your pride?" She opened her mouth to argue back, but Varric held up a hand. He didn't mean it unkindly. "You don't do this right, they'll pin the fallout on you, Seeker. They'll make you responsible--"

"Most Holy would never allow--"

"Your Most Holy is going to be, what, ninety next year? I don't mean any disrespect, but how much longer can she protect you? Who will stand up for you when she's gone?" Cassandra shook her head. "It was just a guess, but I know people like you. You're clever and stubborn and you want to make sure no one else gets hurt. Except for you." 

"I have to do this," she said quietly. "I cannot fail Justinia. She saved me. I must do as I am asked, always." The words were heavy, not meant to be argued against. Varric sighed and got up from the couch, going over to his basket of papers. He couldn't do what she wanted him to do in the days she needed it, but he couldn't refuse her, either. What would that make him, then, if nothing but the failure he had tried so hard not to be? The story he had proved wrong again and again. 

"Then we need to get back to work," he said. "Don't we?"

Cassandra looked up at him, and for the first time since he'd met her, she gave him a genuine smile. Varric thought she might not be the person she was if she did that more often, and he wondered when in her life she'd learned that her smile was not a disarming or seductive thing, but comforting in the way it made her face soft and her eyes bright. Varric was going to say something about this, but a knock at the door interrupted him. 

Varric hardly had time to register who he was letting into the house. A young man rushed by him and took a knee in front of a now-standing Cassandra. "My lady, I came as soon as I could."

" _Maker_ , is it--" He nodded and Cassandra dismissed him, turning and grabbing her bag. "Take us there."

"Us?" Varric stepped forward. "You're not seriously considering dragging me to a crime scene?"

"I will _drag you_ wherever I need you. Get something to take notes with. And jacket," she added, glancing out the window. "It's going to rain."


	3. Chapter 3

_Lo! In that house of misery_   
_a lady with a lamp I see_   
_Pass through the glimmering gloom,_   
_and flit from room to room._

_And slow, as in a dream of bliss,_  
_The speechless sufferer turns to kiss_  
_Her shadow, as it falls_  
_Upon the darkening walls._  
\-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, _Poem to St. Philomena_

* * *

After leaving the third crime scene wishing he hadn't eaten anything at all, Varric wondered aloud how much of their seventy-two hour window they'd used up. 

"Forty-seven hours," Cassandra said, the gloom evident in her voice. "We can't even say we're taking one step forward. All we do is move in reverse." She was decidedly less cheerful than she'd been that morning, and she'd been borderline morose even then. Varric put an awkward hand on her elbow and suggested they get a real breakfast, but she shook her head. "I couldn't eat. We should be looking at your research a bit more, perhaps there is something there." She let Varric lead them back to his apartment, sitting heavily in the overstuffed armchair when they finally came inside. 

"Tea?" he asked.

"Whiskey, if you have it."

"That I can do." 

 

 

 

_"This morning, the body of Sister Marina Kosbeck was found in her home near the Kirkwall Chantry. Kirkwall Police have since come in and set up the official blockades around the building and will be conducting a full sweep of the area once preliminary checks have been completed. The night before, Brother Daniel Pesch and Sister Kara Wolff were also discovered, deceased, in their homes. The Kirkwall Police are working in full cooperation with the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux, as well as members of the Kirkwall Chantry. We are asking that if anyone has any information on the killings to please come forward. Additionally, the Kirkwall Chantry will be entering into a period of mourning, and we ask that you respect their decision not to answer questions regarding these matters. Questions will not be taken at this time, but later in the week during the formal press conference. Thank you."_

On the other side of Varric's TV, Aveline stepped away from the podium as reporters rushed forward. She was gone in a minute, and Varric turned off the set. He didn't need to hear a dozen news jockeys giving their two bits about who could be behind it all. He wrote murder and food, not conspiracy. 

"She _is_ good," Cassandra said, sipping slowly on her drink. "I will give her that much."

"Aveline was top of her graduating class. Pretty green when they brought her in for the job, that's why it was so quiet. A lot of men with years more experience than her could have been chief, but they picked her." Cassandra made a noise that Varric couldn't quite translate, so he let it slide. He had gone out and bought something to cook while Cassandra made some calls, and she had wandered into the kitchen, now, to investigate. "You learn to cook when you write about food, you know."

"We're wasting time," she said, but her heart wasn't in it. Their window was going to close and they weren't going to make it, but she didn't seem to care much anymore. The Seeker wasn't drunk, but Varric suspected that if he let her go unchecked, she'd get there. It was the cautious ones you had to watch around the bottle -- they'd never bothered to find their limit, and certainly didn't have plans to start. 

"You'll feel better once you've eaten."

"I suppose." She sat back down and flipped through crime scene photos again. The scene they'd come from had been gruesome -- the Sister was older than the two who had died before her, and her death, if it truly recreated the third in Varric's book, had not been quick. The fictional Sister Avery had been strangled until she passed out, awoken, and then strangled again. The killer in the book worked that way until he felt her neck snap, and then laid her in a state of repose on the floor, flowers snatched from a vase on the kitchen. The real Sister Marina had not received the grace of flowers, but a quick glance before a Kirkwall PD rookie escorted them off the premises told him it was all familiar enough. They'd have to wait for the coroner's report for more.

The memory of it gave him chills, and he figured that if Cassandra was going to drink, she shouldn't do it alone. He poured himself a glass of whiskey as he finished their lunch, piling it on two plates and settling at the table. "For you."

"What is this?"

"It's an asshole's mutation on an Antivan classic. There's a dive in Lowtown that makes amazing dishes from every region, but they're all layman's versions. In Antiva, you'd roast this duck or goose all damn day, stuff it with apples and onions and sage leaves, and then lay it on a bed of warm bread with more apple and onion slices. This guy takes chicken and cooks it, cooks down some apples and onions into a sauce and pours it on top. Taught me how to make it while we were both halfway to blackout drunk."

"This is what you've been doing over there?"

"Yes." He takes a bite, handing her a thick slice of bread. "Your mop, m'lady."

"That looks disgusting."

"It's called the Antivan Shuffle."

"I don't believe you."

Varric laughed and Cassandra gave him another of those soft smiles before she turned her head to her plate and sighed, taking a bite. She didn't tell him she liked it, but she cleaned her plate and finished off her drink with a flourish. The flush in her cheeks told Varric everything he needed to know. "How'd you become the Right Hand anyway?" Varric asked. He poured her another glass and she took a sip, contemplating him. 

"You aren't writing a book, are you?"

"Currently, no. My last one got turned into a serial killer's wet dream, so not for a while. But I like hearing stories that aren't mine. A lot, actually."

Cassandra sighed and ran her hands through the hair at the nape of her neck. "I foiled an assassination attempt when I was a younger Seeker, and it turned out the intended victim was the Divine. Well, before she was Divine. When she was under consideration. After it was announced and it came time for her to name her Left and Right Hands, she sought me out. I could not refuse her, I have never been able to." She sighed. "I suppose that was always the problem."

"She took you in and you want to let her know it doesn't go unappreciated. That's not a thing to be ashamed of."

"The problem isn't _shame_." She set her glass down and angled herself toward Varric. "I will tell you what I am feeling, but you will not use it it against me."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Her expression told him she didn't believe it for a second, but if there was any doubt in her mind, it passed and she continued. "I am scared. For the first time in...so long. Not really of failure. If I fail and the Divine is gone in a year? They dispose of me, fine. I would not last long without her. Our way of doing things has always been too unorthodox for the clerics." She traced the edge of her glass. "I am afraid of failing _them._ Those who have died. If they could know that I am sitting here at this table, instead of exacting _justice--_ "

"Justice with no evidence? Vigilante field trip with no leads? Damn, Seeker, if I was a dead guy, I'd go easy on you. We haven't even figured out if there's a connection between the three. We don't know if the killings will keep following the book, or if they'll have the same ending. Hell, I didn't know their _names_ until Aveline said them outloud fifteen minutes ago."

"What is your point?"

"My point is dead people can't sit next to you and judge you, Seeker. You do that to yourself."

"We will lose our window."

"And Aveline will stop breathing down our necks." He shrugged. "More time for us to get some actual work done.

"You propose we do this independent of your police?"

"Yes, _my_ police, Seeker." He mopped up the last bit of sauce on his plate and leaned back, whiskey in hand. "I've always done better without the limits of authority figures. Not that we won't have them pestering us at every turn. If Aveline knows better, and she does, she'll be asking for what we know. I've done my fair share of assisting in investigations." Cassandra raised a brow and Varric shrugged. "You don't write about murder in Kirkwall without getting on more than a few bad sides." 

"You? On someone's bad side? Perish the thought."

"Yes, ha ha, Varric Tethras is an annoying pain in the ass. Secret's out."

She laughed. "You pride yourself on it, then? Being able to get under a person's skin?"

"Saved my life a few times, so I can't complain." Cassandra sighed and shook her head, looking into the bottom of her glass. "The age old debate," Varric said. "Another, or no?"

She smiled. "Just one, I think. And then to work."

 

 

 

After lunch, Varric managed to talk Cassandra into taking the guest room and getting a few hours of rest. She'd been moving at a breakneck pace for nearly two days and the last thing Varric needed was for her to crash and burn in the worst way possible. They might have progressed to joking and pockets of honesty, but she was still an unknown radical in all this, and he wasn't about to suffer the consequences of a poorly rested Seeker who didn't know her limits. 

With Cassandra finally tucked away, Varric felt free to dig deeper into his basket of crazy. Saying things like, _What would a serial killer do?_ didn't make it easier to wade through the massive amounts of useless information he'd collected while writing the book, but it did make him feel like he was approaching a new level of insanity, which could be useful when properly applied. Of all the stories about the infamous Q he had found, the five dead Mothers had stuck with him. There were large chunks of the story that hadn't been properly translated, and though it had little or, even, _nothing_ to do with the investigation at hand, Varric shot off a quick email to his friend at the University in Orlais, asking for a full translation, no rush. He thought Cassandra might appreciate the full story.

An hour into looking over the crime scene photos and anything else Cassandra had brought, Varric gave up. They were going to have to abandon protocol, and perhaps finally exiting their precious seventy-two hour window would be useful. Varric had always been adept at keeping under the radar, but he suspected the Seeker was not. In the midst of considering a nap of his own, Varric found himself half-resting under the shadow of a man who had broken into his home too many times to count.

Varric opened one eye and smiled. "And to what do I owe the pleasure, Detective?"

Hawke's laugh was rich and layered. Varric knew what he'd been through, the life he'd led up until now, and he knew that Hawke thought of laughter as something that could not be spared. He laughed at every opportunity, even when not entirely appropriate. "I would say drinks, but you seem to have beaten me to it," he said, lifting one of the glasses. "Are you hiding someone?"

"Not hiding, per se." Varric stood and pushed on his back. He would need to get some actual rest if he was going to be keeping up with Cassandra. "My new employer is in the guest room."

"She's moved in, has she?"

"All but."

"That makes things interesting I suppose." Hawke wandered into the kitchen and started making coffee. "Sorry to hear you were conscripted by the Divine. That's, ah, new and fun, isn't it?"

"It's been a week of firsts."

"For the both of us. Chantry kids get murdered, the crazy cat ladies come out of the woodwork. Some old hag called me and said she saw Darkspawn leaving the Chantry in broad daylight." He sighed. "I might take another Blight over this though. At least you can _find_ Darkspawn."

"Do you even hear yourself?"

"I can't. My phone's been ringing so long, it lives in my ears now, can't you tell?" He tipped his head to this side, grinning. "Speaking of, you wouldn't happen to have made any progress in that little three day window of yours?"

Varric raised an eyebrow. "You know about that then?"

Hawke put a hand over his heart. "Our dear Aveline tells me everything. When relevant to an investigation. Of course, I didn't know anyone was _dead_ for twenty-four hours, so who knows what other secrets she might--"

"I don't have anything for you to bring back to her," Varric said quietly.

"I didn't say--"

"You didn't have to."

Hawke had the decency to look sheepish and sat down at the table. "Yes, _alright._ She asked me to look in on you. She thinks if the two of you _actually_ find anything you'll hoard it away or something. I told her you weren't interested in solving a triple murder all on your lonesome, but then _she_ told me that you were still hanging around with that terrifying Seeker woman, so then _I_ told _her_ that I would--" 

"If I had anything to give you, I would," Varric said. "You know that."

"I do."

"But I don't have anything."

"And I believe you."

Varric smiled. "Glad we're on the same page." 

Hawke sighed and poured himself a cup of coffee, leaning against the counter. "This is going to get ugly before it gets better, Varric. You know that, right?" Varric nodded. "Aveline's spooked. She's worked so hard, and then something like this happens? She blames herself for some _stupid_ reason."

"What, like she could have seen this coming?"

"Masochists, honestly. They never ease up." Hawke smiled. "But I suppose they can't _all_ be like me."

 

 

 

After Hawke finally left, Varric settled into his favorite chair with another glass of whiskey and a good book. It was all a formal pretense -- he needed a nap, but he was terrible at taking them. A bit of booze and some light reading could always be counted on to put him to sleep, and it did the trick nicely. He could make his excuses to Cassandra when he woke up, he thought to himself, and finally dozed off. 

When he awoke, it was to the sound of hushed voices coming from the kitchen. One belonged to the Seeker, but the other...new. Definitely new. Unfolding from sleep, Varric kept his eyes closed, but ears open, trying to overhear their conversation.

"--had stayed in Val Royeaux as I suggested--"

"There is too much at stake here. I had to--"

"Involving him was a silly idea, Cassandra. What good can come of this?"

"And I suppose you have a plan, then? We need someone who understands this city. The Chantry here has always been unique."

"You're sure he can be trusted?"

Cassandra laughed. "You vetted him personally, did you not?"

"A man on paper is often quite different from the one you meet."

Tired of listening to the two of them debate his merits, Varric stood and stretched, going into the kitchen. Cassandra was speaking to a smaller, cloaked woman, who turned to Varric and looked right at him with sharp eyes. _Crow_ , was his first thought, but he couldn't explain it. "Maybe I could clear up any questions about my involvement right now," Varric suggested. To his surprise, the newcomer smiled

"There will be no need. I always wonder those things aloud." She extended her hand to him. "Sister Leliana," she said. 

"Ah." Varric smiled. "Let the two halves be rejoined then." Leliana laughed, and it was so incredibly different from Cassandra's that Varric almost laughed as well. But he knew who this woman was, and he knew what she could do. What that _laugh_ could do. "So we're all in this together now, are we?"

Leliana shrugged. "It would seem that way. I wonder if you have a decent bottle of wine? I've come quite a ways." Varric nodded and began scrounging around, finally unearthing a good bottle of Ferelden white. He filled a glass for her and passed it over. "Thank you," she said quietly, and took a healthy sip. She closed her eyes and smiled. "Kirkwall is an open book to you, Master Tethras, is it not?"

"You could say that."

"But the Chantry is not as familiar to you."

He flushed, though he didn't know why. "It's...been a while."

"Your mother was Andrastian."

"She was whatever she felt like being at the time, but when she died, yes, she was. Not too many surface dwarves I know are much of anything, these days. The Stone seems so far from home."

"Well. Perhaps your distance from that particular matter will serve us. We are strangers in your city. I think you could teach _us_ a thing or two, don't you?" She opened her eyes now and flashed him a charming smile. Varric liked this one, but he knew to exercise caution. She didn't question him out of curiosity, but she wasn't as forward with her interrogation as Cassandra had been. Varric still had the marks on his wrists to prove it. "We can get you close to the Chantry, but you know them as people of this city. You can relate to them in a way we can't."

"Aveline Vallen didn't recommend that."

"Aveline Vallen has her own troubles to contend with. And what she doesn't know won't kill her. We are emissaries of the Divine, and you are our partner. What's done is done, what will be will be, Master Tethras." She drained her glass of wine with grace and stood. "Now. I think I should rest."

Cassandra stepped forward and spoke for the first time since Varric had some into the room. "You will take the guest room. I will sleep on the sofa."

Leliana grinned, her voice teasing. "We could share, Cassandra."

Cassandra smiled. "I won't make _that_ particular mistake again." And with that, they divided up Varric's space and went their separate ways. Cassandra needed to shower, and took the duffel bag Varric didn't even know she _had_ into his second bathroom, while Leliana disappeared into the guest room to sleep. 

Varric stood in the kitchen, blindsided. He eyed the bottle of wine and, figuring he'd slept enough for one afternoon, carried it into his study and took out a stack of letters he needed to answer. 

Hours later, as the sun set, slept, and finally rose, Varric realized with a jolt that their window had closed. It was as real as it was ever going to be, and Varric knew they weren't finished yet.


	4. Chapter 4

_While most who travel to Kirkwall are here on business, there are some who come to our cozy city for more than just professional obligations. The Kirkwall Variety Fair happens every fall, and you wouldn't even recognize some of your favorite pubs and dives. The Hanged Man pulls out all the stops, scrubbing the place from top to bottom, and unearthing classic, ancient recipes for lamb curry pie and deep mushroom stew. A line of food trucks stretches for almost a mile and a half, each boasting a unique and signature dish. Moira Pavish has been driving her truck from Ostwick to Kirkwall for thirty-two years, and the black smoke that engulfs the traffic behind her proves it. She makes a mean roasted August Ram mile-high sandwich, and her signature black eye pudding will confuse you for weeks. Kirkwall finds the most intriguing times to shine, proving year after year that we still have a few tricks up our sleeves._  
\-- excerpt from _Can I Eat It In A Bread Bowl, and Other Important Questions From the Kirkwall Food Scene_ , by Varric Tethras

* * *

If dealing with one emissary of the Divine had been frustrating, at best, Varric had no idea what to call what was happening now. 

The Seeker and Leliana were praying in his living room, and had been for almost twenty minutes. Varric had nothing against the praying part itself. He had done it a few times in his own life, and toward the end, his mother had been incredibly devout. His brother Bartrand indisposed, it had been up to Varric to care for her until she passed, and she insisted on attending services almost daily. Varric was an asshole, but he wasn't a _fucking_ asshole. He sat with her diligently until she was too weak to walk on her own, and then had someone give prayers in her home. So, yes. Varric was okay with the praying.

The gradual spread of their things across the expanse of his apartment in a matter of days, however, was something else entirely.

Varric had never lived with women, apart from his mother. The most Bianca had kept in his house was a toothbrush and some clothes, and even those were strictly a _Varric's only_ sort of thing. But there were now books he'd never seen before sitting on his coffee table, and two of his laundry baskets were stuffed with their clothes, waiting to be folded. He didn't know how the Left and Right Hands of the Divine lived when they weren't slowly absorbing him into their bubble, but he suspected it wouldn't mesh well with his tried and true lifestyle. For one, they got half as much sleep as he did, and it was becoming increasingly troubling.

On top of all this, he was getting emails on the regular from Hawke who informed as politely as he possibly could that Aveline was breathing down his neck and if Varric could, pretty please, let him know how things were going, then his best friend in the entire world would greatly appreciate it. 

This would be, of course, the worst possible time for Bianca to show up.

And so, naturally, she did.

Varric didn't know how long he stood in front of her with the door hanging open, grinding his teeth while his own private Chantry service continued on in the living room. Bianca stood there, looking radiant, looking lovely, and looking mostly confused.

"Um, can I come in?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. Just, uh, ignore them." He shut the door behind her and brought her into the kitchen. "We're conducting an investigation."

"It sounds like you're about to prepare a sacrifice."

He shrugged. "Just keeping things interesting."

Bianca put a hand on his arm. "I read about the killings in the paper. They haven't made the connection yet, but I knew as soon as I saw. Varric I'm so sorry." 

"You read my book?"

She flushed. "I read all your books, you know that."

"I figured what's his name wouldn't let you."

"I'm a grown woman, Varric. I can make my own decisions."

"Yeah, I'm well aware of that." Maker, he didn't feel like dealing with this today. Any other day, any other time, he'd be ecstatic to have her here, voluntarily at that. Sober to boot. It would be like his birthday if he wasn't keenly aware that the praying had stopped and they now had an audience. Bianca looked hurt. Varric hated seeing her this way so he said gently, "You look beautiful."

"I have a doctor's appointment."

"Must be a special doctor."

"Yeah," she said dryly. "Ought to be a real party." She ran a hand through her hair and leaned back against the counter. "I just...wanted to make sure you were alright."

"You know me," he said. "I'm always alright."

She smiled. "You do try to be, don't you?" She kissed his cheek and started heading back to the door. "If you need me for anything, just call."

"Right," he said, leaning heavily against the door frame. "I'll remember that."

 

 

 

Varric tended to keep things in Kirkwall mostly cloudy with a chance of rain in his novels, because Donnen Brennokovic was a mid-functioning recovering alcoholic and it kept things somber. Investigating a murder during the day, while the birds sang despite the chill and the sun seemed to be working overtime just seemed wrong. 

"Would you prefer a nice drizzle?" Leliana joked, flashing him a smile. She'd asked him to accompany her to the Chantry to do some interviews, while Cassandra remained behind to field calls coming from certain cleric groups interested in their progress. "Perhaps some morose puddles for us to gaze into longingly?"

"It would make the cold more logical."

"I enjoy the sunnier days in the fall," she said quietly, glancing up. "But I understand how it might seem counterintuitive to setting the mood."

"Well, that's the beauty of fiction. Creative license with the weather."

Leliana hummed as they waited for the light to turn so they could cross the street. Varric enjoyed spending time with her, though he knew very well that the information she'd given him about herself was superficial and on a need to know basis. Secret keepers were good friends in theory only, and Varric suspected after this was over, he'd never hear from Leliana again. The Seeker, though, he still knew nothing about. 

Well, not nothing. She'd brazenly expressed her fear and she was the only woman still who had ever tied him up. It all had to count for something, he thought. But she remained stoney as ever, while Leliana picked up the slack and turned to Varric in the morning with warm, open eyes, and inquired about his family, life, and home. He was short with his answers, and when she asked about his brother, he'd snapped without thinking and she cut the conversation short. 

He hated when people knew things he hadn't told them.

But the ire between them had now vanished as they climbed the steps to the Chantry, their visit unnoticed by the Templars standing in lazy guard circles around the entrance. 

"Keep your eyes forward, but not too focused," Leliana said quietly. "You're well known, but even you can blend with a bit of applied grace."

"There's something I've never tried."

She smiled. "A day for new things then." They eventually made their way through the main hall and into one of the studies. A circle of women was gathered in prayer. Leliana waited for them to finish before she spoke with a bow. "My dear ladies. I hope you could pardon the interruption--"

" _Sister Leliana!_ " One of the women rushed around the side of the table and threw her arms around Leliana. "You've really come! You've come to save us."

"I've come to get answers," Leliana said. "Please, sit."

"Master Tethras." One of the Revered Mothers nodded in Varric's direction, startling him out of his observation. He looked at her for a moment before recognizing her. She was Mother Annette, and she'd read Varric's mother her final rites before she passed. "I'm glad to see you here again. It's been some time." Varric felt embarrassed and covered the flush on his neck with his hand. "Is your brother well?"

"He is."

"Glad to hear it." She turned her attention back to Leliana, who simply continued to smile through the interruption.

Varric took a seat and listened to her talk quietly with the women. They were frightened, scared to go home or even walk the streets alone. Three of them already dead? Who could even be next? Marina was a good woman, and quiet, too. She was planning a trip to the Emerald Glades to look for herbs. Daniel and Kara were so young, so new to the Chantry. What could they have possibly done?

"It will be up to the police, now, to find that out. We are doing what we can, and Master Tethras is assisting in the investigation." As soon as the words left Leliana's mouth, one of the girls sitting close to Varric reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. 

"The police cannot help us," she said. "You know that as well as I do."

"That's not true," Varric tried to say, but the girls began telling stories about crimes gone untried, reports lost by lazy, uncaring officers, and a Chief of Police who did them no favors. Varric sighed. He'd defended Aveline to Cassandra a hundred times, but he'd done his research. He knew that as much work as Aveline had done, there was still three times as much left to do. "It's why we're here," he finally said, and Mother Annette smiled at him for the first time. "If you can't talk to them, you know you can talk to me."

A few of the girls giggled, their cheeks flushed with color. On the way out, one of them asked Varric to sign her copy of _Swords and Shields_. 

"A romance?" Leliana inquired. 

Varric shrugged. "Not my best work, and definitely not a best seller. It's a serial, so it comes out in parts whenever I can be bothered to write them." She gave him a knowing smile. "It doesn't have a lot of fans."

"Well, clearly you haven't been looking for them in the right places."

Varric laughed. "Yeah, maybe if I marketed it to single Chantry girls, it'd have sold better."

"That's the spirit."

They chatted as they walked, and Varric stopped at one of his favorite little places and treated her to an excellent coffee. As they approached the apartment, Leliana put a hand on his shoulder and steadied his pace. "Hold," she said quietly. "I believe we have guests." 

In front of them, Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard got out of a long black car and made her way up the stairs to Varric's door. They watched as Cassandra opened it cautiously and Meredith eased in past her, along with four of her men. Leliana frowned and continued forward, waiting only a few more minutes before she opened the door herself. 

Meredith had been a fixture in Kirkwall since she was a young Templar. Her rise was punctuated by several grand victories and a great battle in the middle of the city, where she and her men had held out against the forces of a rather nasty Viscount. Her strategy had been to hunker down til the other guy ran out of bullets, then she laid into him. Elthina put her in charge, and everything else was history. Varric quietly and casually respected her, the way you respect your neighbor's angry, ancient mabari. 

"Ah, Sister Leliana." Meredith stood in Varric's living room, hands behind her back. "You've finally returned with him." One of the guards stepped between Leliana and Varric, and neither she nor Cassandra looked pleased about it. "Master Tethras, it is a pleasure, as always." 

"So glad you could drop by. Need another favor?"

"I think one was enough," she said. Meredith had a way of smiling that never quite reached her eyes, which Varric had found unsettling from the very beginning. He tried to keep their dealings few and far between, but a spot of trouble ages ago had left him indebted to a Meredith who had not been promoted yet. The debt was long since repaid, but every so often she enjoyed lording it over him, just to get something small. "Well, I suppose you could consider it a favor, but really I'm doing it for you, Varric." 

He folded his arms over his chest. "What do you need?"

"I'm here to tell all three of you that I'm well aware of your previous deal with Chief Vallen. She didn't inform me, but it was hardly a secret. I'm also here to tell you that the investigation will officially be carried out by Kirkwall's Templar order, with assistance from the Circle." She turned to a young man at her side. "My second-in-command will be taking care of the official proceedings moving forward from now."

"Cullen," Varric said, nodding.

"Varric." Cullen had a genuine, proud smile, but he was keeping it to himself for now. The two had no history worth mentioning, and Varric had always found Rutherford to be an all around good Templar to deal with. Currently he looked a bit ill, but Meredith had that effect on people, intentional or not. 

"So you understand, then, why the Divine's intervention will no longer be necessary."

" _What?_ " Cassandra stepped forward and a guard blocked her away, cutting her off from Meredith. "The Divine requested we be here, you have no _right_ to go over her head."

"Oh _do_ grow up." Meredith pushed the guard out of the way. "I have little time to deal with Justinia's _pets_ toddling around my city, thinking they know _best_. I can't _stop_ you from meddling, I suppose, but I will not be kind if I find you at one of my crime scenes." She pulled back with a smile. "You _do_ know there was another murder this morning, don't you?"

Leliana stepped forward. "We did not."

"Yes. A Mother this time. We have men dispatched to the scene so we have to run, but--" She put a hand on Varric's shoulder. "It would be tragic if House Tethras lost another good son to meddling, don't you think, Varric?" With that, she left. Cullen threw an apologetic glance over his shoulder as he trailed after her, ordering the men to shut the door behind them. 

For a few moments, the house was completely silent.

"I do not like that woman," Cassandra finally said. 

Varric decided he needed a drink. 

 

 

 

Long after Leliana had gone to bed, Varric emerged from his study quietly, expecting the Seeker to be deep asleep. Instead, he found her sitting up straight and reading a book borrowed from his shelf. "Was I keeping you up?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I was too angry to sleep. I thought reading might help, but it hasn't."

"Food, maybe?"

"Is that your answer to everything?"

"I know of only three ways to quell an angry dwarf," he said. "And I'm pretty sure they work on humans, too." Cassandra sighed and followed him into the kitchen. He made her a cup of milky tea and dug out a box of scones he'd bought the week before from his preferred bakery. "You'll like these."

"You do have infuriatingly good taste in snacks," she admitted, leaning back in her chair. Varric sat across from her, admiring her profile without thinking. She was beautiful, as he'd already thought, but he knew her a bit better now, and it was more obvious to him exactly how beautiful she knew she was. The way she did her hair, with careful hands, the way she dressed -- Varric admired her, and she knew it. Well, perhaps not that he did specifically, but the Right Hand could hardly accomplish what she needed without the right touch here and there. He wondered what she looked like in the morning, how she slept, if her hands stayed closed to her chest or if they -- 

"Varric?"

"Hmm?"

"You've gone off again."

"I do that, from time to time."

"I am aware." She didn't accuse him of staring, though, which was fine by him. "What did Meredith mean today? The two of you have a history?"

Varric would have _preferred_ she berate him for staring than talk about his brother, but she was being kind and curious, so he didn't see what could be so wrong with a bit of honesty. He had barely opened his mouth to tell her about an unfortunate circumstance regarding his brother's deteriorating sensibilities when he phone rang. 

Coincidence did not quite cover this.

"Is it you, Daisy?"

On the other end of the phone, Merrill sighed. "It is. I hate to call you this late--"

"Is he alright?"

"He's fine," she said. "But there's been some...confusion. With the finances."

"What do you mean?"

"The account you set up to pay for his room here just...stopped working. We went to apply a payment this afternoon and it didn't--"

"Meredith." 

"No, it's _Merrill_. Honestly, Varric, we've talked about this, you shouldn't drink so late."

"No, not you, just--" He sighed. "What's happening, then?"

"You know the policy, Varric."

He laughed. "Yeah, but I can't just take him in right now, Daisy."

She made a noise. "I know. But you're all he's got, Varric. Your brother needs you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pardon the typos it's been very quickly beta'd by yours truly. second a couple of things.  
> -there's a _from dusk til dawn_ reference in here. movie, not the show.  
>  -i understand that a lot of folks do not like bianca, and while i'm not a fan of the canonical iteration of their relationship, i don't hate or dislike her specifically. i promise you she isn't the bad guy here. she's a confused lady and he's a confused guy, and love makes you do wacky things. take it from a girl in the same boat.   
> -also i've never seen castle but someone told me this was a castle au and i was like oh shit ur right


	5. Chapter 5

_"We have only one story. All novels, all poetry, are built on the neverending contest in ourselves of good and evil. And it occurs to me that evil must constantly respawn, while good, while virtue, is immortal. Vice has always a new fresh young face, while virtue is venerable as nothing else in the world is."_   
\-- John Steinbeck, _East of Eden_

* * *

It was after ten when the car from Eternal Springs dropped Bartrand off in front of the apartment. A couple of young elves helped him up the stairs while Varric carried his solitary bag. It was facility policy that any lapse in payment would result in expulsion. The last thing Varric needed right now was his brother, half-crazy and unmedicated, wandering around Kirkwall. It was also the last thing he needed in his own house, but he couldn't ask any of his friends to deal with this. It was his and his alone. 

Well, almost. There was still the matter of the Seeker and Leliana, who watched Varric crunch a pill into a glass of water and put his brother to bed. "He gets night terrors," he explained quietly. 

"What happened, Varric?"

"I don't know. Meredith must have meddled with something. She doesn't want us screwing with her investigation."

Leliana huffed. "As obnoxious as she is, her methods are intriguing. I suppose that's one way to keep someone out of your business. Meddle enough in their own, they won't have time." 

"We will not be negotiating with this woman," Cassandra said. "You will fix this situation with your brother and we will continue."

"Or you could find another place to sleep and I'll just do what she wants me to do. Both sound like solid plans."

Cassandra balked. "You would give up? Because she's made a weak move?"

"You're pretty far removed from my personal life, so I'll let you know something, Seeker. Fucking with my money and getting my brother kicked out of his home are pretty _bold_ moves."

"Meredith must have a lot of power, if she can disrupt monetary flows so easily," Leliana said.

"She's got sway in every direction. I shouldn't even be surprised about this. She's been holding this shit over my head for years."

Leliana put a hand on Varric's shoulder. "If you'd like us to leave you for a while, we can. We can even go for good, if that's what you want. There are plenty of places that would serve us well."

Varric shook his head. "I'll get him back in there as soon as I can, just...give me a day or two." 

 

 

 

 **to:** varrictethras@kirkwallmail.net  
 **from:** michellesauveterre@uduo.edu  
 **subject:** requested translation

Varric:

You didn't ask for a rush job, but I got into it and figured I'd get it done as soon as possible for you. I don't know if this has anything to do with major shit hitting all the fans in Kirkwall, but I asked them to pray for your sorry ass in the Chantry the other day. The translation is attached, but please don't forward it to anyone, I'm considering it for my next collection. I'll be sure to thank you, don't worry. Stay safe and don't die.

Michelle S.

PS: Those Chantry women are nuts, be careful. 

_attached file: varricsdumbthing.pdf_

 

 

 

It was late when Varric finally retreated into the seclusion of his study. There was a couch, so he'd sleep there tonight, until he could call the bank in the morning and have the accounts unfrozen. Bartrand was already less functional than the last time Varric had seen him -- he'd had to have his brother carted off by nurses because Bartrand had tried to strangle him. So a nice story about how a serial killer had murdered five revered Mothers in their library was a welcome change of pace. Sort of.

Varric went into the living room and Cassandra was awake again, this time watching his television on mute. She looked vacant until she saw him and turned off the TV. "Did I wake you?"

"Wasn't asleep."

"Of course." She nodded, twisting her fingers in the blanket spread across her lap. Varric sat in an armchair. "I am sorry for the way I acted earlier today. It was insensitive." She pressed her lips together. "Sometimes I can be cruel without meaning to."

"I'm not angry. And I don't want you to leave. I'll settle things with the bank and get him back where he should be. Hopefully he'll rest most of the time he's here. Travelling doesn't do him any favors." Varric sighed and leaned back in his chair. He kept expecting a barrage of questions to come, but they never did. If she'd been curious the night before, Cassandra didn't seem to be now. She was quiet, watching him from her spot on the couch. "I have something for you," Varric said quietly. 

She leaned forward. "Oh?"

"You remember being very angry with me, don't you?"

"You will have to be specific, dwarf."

" _Easy_ , easy." Varric smiled and leaned forward with her, handing over the translation he'd printed out. "You were angry because I didn't get the full story from my friend in Orlais. The translator. It's not important to the case, but I thought you'd appreciate knowing what really happened. I sort of do." Cassandra took it from him, her eyes brighter now, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "There's something pretty big I missed just getting the abridged version you know."

"Oh?"

"Here." He flipped to the last page and Cassandra read aloud.

" _'But the story of our lost beloved Mothers should not have to end in tragedy. For although there were five bodies found, there was a sixth discovered, and she was very much alive. Revered Mother Alessandra Povezi had prayed to our beloved Andraste to keep her body still, her breath shallow. She said later that it seemed as though she really did die, and rested in the arms of the Maker for a brief moment, before the panicked cries of Sister Paulina roused her from an ethereal slumber, and she awoke with grace and love in her heart.'_ " Cassandra's breath hitched. "That...is very beautiful."

"It is."

"It is an unexpected end to such a horrible tale." Then, "Thank you, Varric."

"Of course." Varric could have sat and watched her read for hours. He had always enjoyed watching other people read, and the Seeker had a certain amount of grace about her that Varric admired. If she knew he was watching yet again, she said nothing, but he was startled when she said, "You should sleep, Varric. You've had a long day."

"Long week," he muttered, and she nodded.

"We will have to work on getting more information about this new murder tomorrow. Perhaps another visit to the Chantry? Leliana told me you have fans there."

"I have fans everywhere I go, Seeker."

She rolled her eyes and passed back the papers. "Goodnight, Varric."

 

 

 

In the morning, Bartrand was still asleep, so Varric shut the door to his bedroom and went into the empty kitchen. It was early, and the Seeker was still asleep on the sofa. He could hear the quiet noises of Leliana getting out of bed, the tell-tale groan of the shower, and, eventually, Cassandra wandered into the kitchen, blinking sleep from her eyes. The shirt she slept in hung loosely on the slope of her shoulders, exposing the delicate shape of her collarbone that Varric could not find many more words to describe. 

"Is there coffee?" she asked. 

"Two minutes."

"Maker, this work will ruin me." She sat heavily in a chair and put her face in her hands. Closed to conversation, Varric turned his back and allowed her this moment while he dug into the fridge for some breakfast. Leliana surprised him by putting a hand on his shoulder. 

"I spoke with Mother Annette. She's offered to have one of the sisters stay with your brother today, and as many times as you need. She's rather fond of you." 

"She's a friend of the family." 

"She approves of your involvement."

Despite her tone, there was an unspoken question there that Varric didn't feel like answering. _How does she know you? What does this mean to you?_ When she didn't get what she wanted, Leliana took two cups of coffee to the table, and asked Cassandra if she would join them at the Chantry today. 

"To pray," she said. "I'll let you handle the questioning." 

"That's a change from our usual way," Leliana said with a smile.

"I believe the situation is becoming more delicate with every moment that passes." Cassandra put cream in her coffee. "I will follow your lead, this time around." The words seemed forced, as if Cassandra was uncomfortable with the fact that she could not beat the situation at hand until the answers fell at her feet, and Varric, knowing he had more in common with her than either of them would care to admit, understood how she felt. 

A noise from the back of the house made Varric's gut twist, and he dropped the eggs on the counter, rushing to his room. Bartrand was standing on the bed, his eyes wild, hands grasping at nothing. It was hard to tell if he was in the middle of a dream or hallucinating, and it was a sharp reminder that Varric hadn't fixed the problem at hand. "Bartrand. You need to get down."

"Little brother you're just in time. You see it, yeah?"

"I do."

"Alright then. We catch just a few more, we'll be able to go home. Ma can cook these up, we'll have a good night. No messes."

"What are we catching?"

Bartrand laughed. "Are you blind? The crabs, Varric. You're acting strange."

"Just tired," Varric said quietly. He climbed onto the bed and wrapped a hand around Bartrand's wrist. "Come on. You know where you are."

"Do I?"

"You're with me. You're safe."

Bartrand trembled under Varric’s grip. "This isn't home."

"It's my home."

"Not ours."

Varric sighed. "No. Not anymore." 

 

 

 

They left a finally calmed Bartrand with Sister Leona, and set out for the Chantry. On another day, in another time, Varric would have jumped at the chance to show them his city. They passed one of his favorite food stalls as they walked through the market, the smell of roasted meats and cooking bread bringing him back to a better time. He suddenly missed Hawke and Isabela and even Fenris with a painful jolt, and was not looking when they were stopped abruptly at the steps to the Chantry.

Cullen looked upset at turning them away, leading them to a more secluded spot. "Meredith won't allow you to speak with the sisters."

"No?" Leliana frowned. "I spoke with Mother Annette on the phone this morning--"

"We're aware," he said, neck flushed. "But you can't meet with her here." 

"Here..."

Cullen looked around. "If you were to meet Mother Annette somewhere else, then I suppose I would never know. She is not barred from leaving."

"We'll get a drink at the Hanged Man," Varric said. "Sort ourselves out. Maybe if you see Mother Annette, let her know we dropped by."

"If I can, I will. Please, don't come back." Cullen turned on his heel and went back to his men. Varric nodded and turned away from the steps, pushing through the small crowd that had gathered. The Hanged Man was a twenty minute walk, and they did most of it in silence. Every so often Leliana would pose a question, pulling from Varric's well of knowledge. He was happy to tell her what he knew, aware that it was a method of passing time, that he could never know how much Leliana cared about this place, if she did at all. When The Hanged Man came into view, Varric felt something in his chest loosen. 

This place, this dirty old place with its loose hinges and stolen relics and open hearths -- it was another home. 

The smell of bread invaded his senses as he led them to his usual spot and ordered a round. There may have been a killer loose, but Varric was going to enjoy this place all the same. 

"It's...strange in here," Cassandra said.

"It's Kirkwall at its best." Varric took a long drink from his beer. "This is what makes this city truly _great._ " Cassandra looked like she disagreed, and Varric could have asked her how they did things back in her own city, but they were interrupted by the graceful arrival of Mother Annette. She seemed as much at home as Varric felt, and even ordered herself a glass of honeyed wine. "You got our message."

"Meredith's young man should decide where his loyalties lie before he gets himself into trouble," she answered. "But, yes. He was very helpful." If there was more to it, she didn't elaborate, and no one asked. When her wine came, she took a sip, and finally said, "The man's name was Brother Amir. He was...a good friend." She took a shaky breath. "I would rather not go into details about how he died--"

"Was he hung?" Varric asked. Mother Annette hand flew to her mouth. Varric had never, in their time together, seen her break -- but she did, and he regretted his words immediately. He put a hand over her trembling one still resting on the table. "Forgive me, please."

"How could you--"

"The killer has unfortunately been using Varric's newest novel as inspiration."

Mother Annette looked at him, pulling her hand away carefully. "How could they--"

"If we knew why, we would certainly tell you," Leliana said. "Was Brother Amir doing anything out of the ordinary recently?"

"Hardly. He was studying with healers. He delivered last rites. He was a _good man._ " She was trying to understand, Varric could tell, but her eyes hadn't left his. Whatever she was working out, it did not involve Varric remaining in her good graces. "You wrote a _book_ about...about _murdering_ us--"

Cassandra frowned. "You have not read it."

"The girls under my care are not allowed to read that particular series. I allow the romances because they are young, but the others..." Her eyes were sharp on Varric's own. "I knew your stories were gruesome, but I had no idea--"

"You must not get out much," Leliana said carefully.

"I am in charge of a very complicated order, _Sister Nightingale._ Or perhaps you have forgotten the position you used to occupy in this world."

"I suppose if I did, you would be quick to remind me."

Mother Annette stood abruptly, knocking her glass over. Wine spilled across the table and dripped onto Varric's shoes. "I will not blame you, Varric. But I would ask you to never speak to my girls again." 

"I can explain--"

"The Chantry was there for you in _spite_ of everything. The Chantry remembered your mother when no one else would. When no one would _touch_ a dwarf such as she. And you _used_ us to tell a story." She pulled on her coat. "You are no better than your father was. It is a shame House Tethras lost the greater son." 

 

 

 

Leliana suggested they take the train back to the house, and Varric silently agreed. His stomach turned unpleasantly when they passed the Chantry -- he was eager to make it home and sort things out for Bartrand. However much he loved his brother, he was not equipped to deal with this, _any_ of this. He wanted to forget the entire day had happened, and he could only think of a few ways to do that. Hawke would entertain the notion of getting mind numbingly drunk at any hour of the night, so when he unlocked the door to relieve Sister Leona, he was feeling considerably better about the rest of his evening.

But Sister Leona was not there. 

And after a few seconds of searching, of calling out his name, Varric realized with a sickening jolt that he brother was gone as well. 

_Well, shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, posting more than one thing in a day. And keeping up with this story. You should all be incredibly proud of me.


	6. Chapter 6

_"For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken. It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack."_  
\-- D.H. Lawrence

* * *

To say that Varric panicked would a great injustice to the overwhelming ache that had begun to grown inside of him. It grew like spilled ink across a table, obscured his vision and fogged his thoughts. When Leliana reached out to him, he pushed her away. 

"Meredith did this," he said. "She knows what we did."

"Varric you don't know that--"

"I know _enough_." He could feel anger welling up inside of him, and the closeness of them was beginning to suffocate him. "I have to find out where he is. I have to call Hawke--"

"We can help you--"

" _No._ " Varric took a step back, finally looking at them. He couldn't understand why this was happening to him. He didn't _want_ anymore of this, he had never _asked_ for this. All he'd done was written a stupid book. He'd always just wanted to write, to be liberated from the heavy closeness of his childhood and adolescence, which was now beginning to lick at his heels like a flame. "I want you to go. I want you gone, I don't want you here anymore--"

"Varric, please, we--"

"Are you not _listening?_ "

"Our _work_ , Varric--"

"Then I'll go. I'll fucking leave, and you--"

Cassandra huffed. "It's _your_ house, Varric."

He didn't want to argue with her. He wanted to find his brother before the worst happened, so Varric grabbed his keys and left. Let them work through it, figure this whole thing out on their own. Varric was _done_ , he was finished with all this Chantry bullshit. He was done with Templars and Meredith and Justinia -- he couldn't, not anymore. 

But he couldn't call Hawke. He couldn't call Aveline. They were swamped, despite Meredith's block. Despite -- 

_Meredith._

 

 

 

Cullen couldn't stop him from climbing the stairs this time, and when Meredith saw him approaching, she held up a hand to the guards racing after him. Varric could have taken a swing at her if he'd lost himself completely, but he still had a bit of sense left. She smiled, and it didn't help.

"Where is my brother?"

"Have you lost him again? You're not very good at this family thing, are you Varric?" She gestured for him to follow her. "You have no more favors to ask for, dwarf."

"You had something to do with this. You were the one that got him kicked out, you messed with my _money_ , you--"

She held up a hand. "I will admit that I did that, yes. I needed you out of my hair. I suppose the plan did not work as well as I intended." Meredith folded her arms over her chest. "But I did not kidnap your brother, if that is what you're implying."

"Bullshit--"

"Varric." Her voice was sharp, and it struck him. "I will allow you to storm through my men because I know that you are harmless. But I will not stand accused without evidence. Can you prove I did it?"

"You admitted to tampering with my funds."

"Yes, I did. But I have no interest in your brother beyond what he can do to keep you out of my hair. Which is apparently nothing, now." She sighed. "If you would like, I can dispatch some of my men to--"

"No." Varric stepped back. "No more debts. I've repaid you. I won't owe you anything else."

Meredith shrugged. "It's up to you, Varric. I hope this has put your suspicions to rest at the very least." She waved over one of her men. "Please escort Master Tethras off the premises." She looked down at him. "We're done here."

Varric tore his arm from the Templar's grip when they reached the foot of the stairs and began walking away. His phone was buzzing in his coat pocket, and when he saw who was calling, he almost threw it into the street. He didn't have _time_ for Bianca right now. Whatever she wanted couldn't help. He had another call from Leliana and a few messages from Hawke, but what could any of them do now? What could they help him with that he couldn't figure out on his own?

Hadn't it always been this way?

 

 

 

None of his usual haunts turned up his brother. He finally listened to a message from Leliana, who told him they weren't leaving until they at least knew Bartrand was safe, though he could hear Cassandra shouting in the back that Varric could go _fuck_ himself and she didn't care a damn about Bartrand -- 

Varric deleted it. They could do what they'd like, but he would be looking for his brother alone.

A few more missed calls from Bianca. A few more corners of the city searched. 

It was late when Varric finally walked into The Hanged Man, a migraine starting to dig its roots. He had stopped looking at his phone some hours ago, and when he finally unearthed it from his pocket, he saw he had missed a call from the facility. If they knew Bartrand was missing, if someone had told them -- they could be helpful. Or, they could be calling Varric to let him know that they had gone the way of Cassandra, and he and his brother could get fucked. 

_"Varric, it's Merrill. Someone dropped off your brother a few hours before my shift started and paid through the year. Seemed suspicious so I figured I'd call you. Call me back? Please? Just wanted to make sure you knew what was happening. And that he's resting in his old room now."_

_"Varric, Merrill again. Call? Please?"_

_"Varric, Merrill told me you aren't returning her calls, so if you don't get your shit together and take care of things, I'll find you and hang you from your stupid ankles, you hear me?"_ Varric smiled for the first time that day. He could always trust Isabela to look out for Merrill's emotional wellbeing. 

But now he knew where his brother was, and he knew that it really hadn't been Meredith. 

Maker, he had so much crow to eat.

 

 

 

Merrill couldn't tell him who had paid for Bartrand's stay or driven the car. It was anonymous and their tracks were well covered, but for now, Varric wasn't worried. His brother was safe, and even though he'd wasted the day away being an insufferable, selfish asshole, he could smile, just a bit, as he walked back to the house. He stopped at his favorite bakery on the way, figuring something sweet might lessen the blow to his ego when he slinked back into the apartment. Leliana and Cassandra were waiting, sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of wine between them. Cassandra didn't bother to look at him when he came in, but Leliana wrapped her arms around him. 

"Is everything alright?"

Whether she cared or if it was all an act, Varric didn't really care. Her arms were sturdier than he would have thought, and she was warm. "It is," Varric said. "It's...someone came and took him back."

"But the money--"

"Someone paid for it, too."

Leliana stepped back. "You're not concerned?"

"I'm not. Because he's safe, now. He's there and I can sort out how he got there when my head is clear and I don't feel like such an _ass._ " He looked between them. "I'm sorry for what I said, for how I acted."

"You were upset, it's perfectly understandable."

"Yes," Cassandra said dryly. "Because it is us you should have taken out your frustrations on. It is _us_ you should have expelled from your life--"

"Cassandra, we agreed--"

" _You_ agreed," Cassandra muttered, but it died in the air between them and she rose from her spot at the table, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I am glad your brother is safe." 

"Well. Here." Varric shoved the box into her hands -- it wasn't how he'd imagined the rest of this going, and it wasn't as charming now as he had hoped it would be. But Cassandra still took it, pulling at the string around the box and lifting the lid. "I just--"

"Cassandra loves honeyed cakes. How did you know?"

"I...didn't." 

Leliana smiled. "Well, we're just glad things are alright." She reached into the box and pinched a cake between her fingers, chewing for a moment before she said, "We created a bit of a plan while you were gone. Tomorrow I'd like the two of you to speak with people living around the homes of the deceased. I'd like to think _someone_ noticed something out of the ordinary." She sighed and stretched. "I'm off to bed. Rest, both of you. We have a long day ahead of us." She headed back to the guest room, the door shutting quietly behind her. 

It left Varric standing awkwardly in front of Cassandra, who still held the box of cakes in her hand, eyes on them like they might set her fingertips on fire.

Varric cleared his throat. "So--"

"I think I understand," Cassandra said quickly. "If it were my brother--" She choked on the word, and her hands squeezed the box, bending the edges until Varric pried it carefully from her fingers. "Forgive me--"

"Hey, I'm the sorry sack of shit tonight, Seeker. You don't have anything to apologize for."

Cassandra gave him a weak smile. "Well. For something, maybe. In time."

"Save it," Varric said quietly.

"Right." She stepped away from him, brushing a hand over the back of her head. Varric wondered what her hair would feel like between his fingers, and he wondered what she would say if he asked her -- "Good night, Varric."

"Night, Seeker."

 

 

 

A note in the kitchen the next morning told Varric that Leliana had left. Cassandra was awake and sipping a cup of tea, the _Kirkwall Daily_ spread out on the table. When Varric came in, she glanced up and promptly dropped her toast. "Oh. Oh, no, just...just stay there--" She tried to cover the paper, but Varric was quicker than her frantic attempts, and yanked the sheet out from under her hands. "It isn't anything--"

" _Respected author Varric Tethras has been made a central figure in the recent investigation into the deaths of four members of the Kirkwall Chantry, in part because of his involvement with two agents of the Divine, as well as one interesting tidbit: the killer has modeled the murders after scenes from his most recent novel._ " Varric sighed, folding the paper over and tossing it onto the table. "I suppose it was only a matter of time."

"They don't accuse you. They're sympathetic, really."

"I used to work for that paper, you know."

Cassandra nodded. "Well, they must know you'd never be capable of a thing like this." 

"Like you did."

"Like I did." 

Varric laughed and sat across from her. "Should make our little trip more interesting."

She excused herself to get ready, while Varric took his coffee to his bedroom. He had another missed call from Bianca, but the energy to deal with her still wasn't there. He couldn't summon it, couldn't imagine a moment yesterday or today when he would feel up to it. She would be worried, and he hated to do that to her -- but it had happened before, and Varric could make excuses for himself later. 

 

 

 

The weather was not kind to them as they hit the streets in search of _something_ new. The rain was a devastating drizzle, and the chill in the air seemed to cut through the seams of Varric's boots until his toes were almost numb. By the time the fifth or sixth door had been shut in their faces, he wasn't feeling very good about this venture. 

"Where's Leliana?"

"She didn't say." Cassandra shoved her hands further into her pockets. "One more door, you think?"

"We may as well." They'd reached the fourth apartment building, and hadn't had any luck so far. If people weren't silent, they were belligerent. Someone accused Varric of instigating, another of him sucking the Chantry teat. Cassandra opened her mouth to protest that one specifically, but Varric took her by the elbow and led her away. 

The last door was an unhelpful as all the ones before and it would have ended in blows if the grouchy dwarf they'd awoken hadn't decided the two of them weren't worth her time before slamming the door in their faces. 

"I can't believe her," Cassandra said. She'd reluctantly been convinced that they needed something to eat before they continued on with anything, and was sitting across from Varric at one of his favorite places. 

"She reminds me of this bean stall woman I knew when I was a boy."

"Bean stall."

"She sold beans," Varric explained. "And I was at least twice as obnoxious as I was now. She'd run me off pretty much every day."

"You were trying to steal _beans?_ "

"Just a few. Just for fun."

"Yes, that sounds incredibly amusing." Varric laughed. "It is unfortunate that we could not accomplish what we wanted."

"But we did _learn_ something." Cassandra raised a brow. "Everyone is fucking terrified to talk."

"You think they know something?"

"Yes. They're just not willing to share."

Cassandra sighed and leaned back in her seat as Varric ordered food. She ordered tea for herself and held the thick, porcelain mug tight in her hands, the paleness of it a stark contrast to the brown of her skin, to the pink along the ridge of her nails. She was, Varric thought, stunning in her valor. A warrior out of her element -- the reason why the Right had defaulted to the Left. Varric had not found a human like her intriguing in his entire life, mostly because he had simply never met anyone like her. 

She turned to him, her gaze slipping between one thought and the next, while Varric realized, with a burning jolt, that he wanted her.

 

 

 

Cassandra's voice was gentle on the train ride home. She told Varric she was born in Nevarra, that she was seventy-eighth in line for the throne, and had once had a brother. 

"I lost him, a long time ago." Her eyes were soften when she said, "You understand what it's like."

"I do."

She smiled as they rose from their seats. Varric pulled his keys from his pockets, but before they turned the corner, Cassandra stopped him. "I wanted to thank you." 

"Seeker--"

"Please. Let me finish." She looked at the ground between them, then right into his eyes. Varric wished she would stop -- it didn't ease his desire. "Your reputation is on the line here. This is your city and your home, and I came into it all expecting you to do as I said, if only because I am used to that. Leliana is petal, you see. The clerics have often called me the thorn."

"They underestimate Leliana. And you."

"It is not the job of the Left and Right Hands to be estimated by old men and their books. I would have none of it, if I could. But it stands as their truth, and so we are left to do what we can in light of the situation." She shrugged and continued walking. "You have been...different than others. I am grateful."

"Even after yesterday?"

"Well. I did tie you up. I suppose we could consider ourselves even."

Varric laughed as they climbed the stairs to the door, and he could not imagine what it would take to lose this feeling. 

Except for Bianca. He could imagine that quite clearly.

She stood from her spot at the table and went to him immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I called you a _hundred times_ , Varric."

"What are you doing here?"

" _Checking on you._ No one knew where you were, I called all day."

Varric gently pulled her hands from his shoulders and smiled at her. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking straight."

"Cassandra." Leliana stood. "Join me?"

"Of...of course." Cassandra looked between them before she began unbuttoning her coat, following Leliana into the guest room. 

Bianca sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I need to tell you a couple of things. And I need you to do me a favor and listen."

"I'm great at listening."

"You think you're better than you are," she said quietly, leading him to the kitchen table. "I know you went looking for Bartrand yesterday. And if you had bothered to answer the phone when I called you, I would have been able to tell you that you were wasting you time." Varric frowned. "I brought him back."

"You paid for him." She nodded. "Why?"

"Because what happened to him is my fault, too. I owe him _something_ \--"

" _You_ owe him something? You owe him something _now_ , after all this time?"

"You were the one who never let me help you!"

"I didn't want to see you get hurt. You're _married_ now, and you don't owe me anything."

"Varric--"

"I don't think we can keep doing this." 

"Varric."

" _I_ can't keep doing this."

" _Varric._ " Her voice was sharp and she grabbed one of his hands in her own, hard. "I'm pregnant." 

Varric blinked. "Oh." Impossibly, he asked: "Is it--"

She laughed. " _No_ , Varric. But...we're moving soon. Bogdan doesn't want to raise a family here and there's work for him in Orlais." She held both his hands now. "So. That's that." _No_ , Varric thought. _It's never so simple._ "Unless--" She pressed her lips together. "Unless you ask me to stay." 

Her words hit him hard, and the overwhelming rawness of it was almost too much. He couldn't pull away from her, because suddenly a thing he had wanted for so long was sitting right there. 

She leaned forward. "I know we're not good at this part, and I know it would be _hard._ But Varric, if you _asked_ me to...to stay." She pressed her mouth to his knuckles. "I would stay." 

The way she said it wasn't like any of the times she'd said it before. It wasn't a drunken admission or a painful realization. It was something easy, something he knew she'd arrived at in her own, graceful time. The way she said it reminded him of how and why he'd loved her. It made him think of better times, of younger times, of less sensible times. When Varric had been on the cusp of adulthood, her hand in his, the world was under their feet. 

"The baby--"

"We could figure that out. We'd finally _be_ us. We'd be together. You just...have to say the word." 

"I have to say it. I have to ask you."

"Yes."

"Bianca."

"Varric, what is so _hard_ about what I'm--"

"I won't ask you that." 

Her eyes blew wide, like he'd hit her in the gut. Maybe he had. "You--"

"I can't, and I never could, even before this." He threaded their fingers together and leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his own. "If you weren't married, if you weren't having a baby...maybe it'd be different. I don't know, I won't guess. But we have the lives we have right _now_. And you've been living yours far away from mine longer than you probably remember."

" _Please_ don't say it."

He wanted to laugh, but it would have come out wrong. It would have strangled him. "I have to. Or I'll ruin us both."

" _Varric._ "

"You're going to leave the city, and you're going to live a _happy_ life. You're going to be a _wonderful_ mother. And I'm going to be a once-was. I'm going to be a memory. A good one, I hope. For the most part anyway." 

"It isn't over."

"It is," he said.

"But we could be _great._ "

"Bianca." He reached out and cupped her face in his hands. "We _were_ great. But if we want to be greater, we can't do this to ourselves anymore."

If she had anything else to say, she swallowed it. Bianca leaned forward into his arms and wept. She cried until she could hardly breathe, until her body shuddered under his hands, and she had calmed herself enough to take one deep, painful breath.

In it, Varric could hear the rich, staggering sound of a thousand hearts, across a thousand lifetimes, breaking in two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me six million years to write just the last chunk, because it had to be exactly as I'd started imagining it a few days ago.


	7. Chapter 7

_"They say Eli's is the saddest bar in Hightown, and those not acquainted with heartbreak would tell you it's because of the prices. But the bartender, Rhoda, a fixture there for the last forty-two years, will tell you a different story. She has been the confidant of hundreds of men and women who have come to her looking for a way to forget. A way to be empty of heartache, if only for one night. And years of confessions have taught her something important, which she passes along at every opportunity: the heart is flesh, and flesh, in time, does heal."_   
\--excerpt from _Etched Glass: a Literary Tour of Kirkwall's Bars and Dives_

* * *

At this point, it was not incredibly shocking to Varric that someone else had been killed. Leliana and Cassandra were in the kitchen watching the news, and Varric moved around them like they had been doing this their entire lives. He wondered, briefly, if they would be here forever, and decided that he hadn't had enough coffee when he thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad. 

"They are getting bolder," Leliana said. "A cleric? Of her stature?" 

"Elisa was a friend of the Divine," Cassandra said quietly. "She will be upset."

"Varric." Leliana lifted the paper and showed him an article. "This here, what is it?" 

"A citizen's gathering?" She nodded. "It's a public meeting. Kind of a pass it along sort of thing. One person tells another, tells another. Next thing you know, half of Kirkwall is shoved into the theatre. They usually end in arrests." He frowned. "You can't go there."

"Why not?"

"If they recognize you, they might get angry. You're here to solve these. If they're anything like the people we met yesterday, they'll turn on you in a second." Varric shook his head. "I don't go to those. They're not safe." He pointed to the TV. "Better to just watch it here."

"They televise them?"

"The big ones, yeah. And believe me, this is going to be pretty big." Neither of them looked like they cared for Varric's plan, but what else should he have expected? He sighed. "I know it sounds like a cop out--"

"It does," Cassandra said dryly.

" _Believe me_ , you don't want to be there if it gets ugly."

Leliana raised a hand. "Yes, alright, we will default to you on this matter." She looked at the television. "Though I do enjoy a riot every so often." 

That didn't really surprise Varric either.

 

 

 

 **hawke:** stay home, it's getting bad  
 **varric:** where the hell are you?  
 **hawke:** where the hell do you think?

 

 

 

Varric had only been to a handful of public meetings like these before. He'd reported on them, observed them for his books and, sometimes, for entertainment. When they were good, they were _good._ Kirkwall was, sometimes, a weird, ugly place, one of the reasons Varric loved it so much. Other times the ugliness was too much. And when that happened, Varric retreated into better memories of street food and good beers, of women behind grills selling meat on sticks, of children racing down the streets with firecrackers in one hand, boxes of matches in the other. 

When the people Chief Aveline had fought so hard to serve shouted her off the stage, Varric was ashamed. It took a few moments for Aveline to tear herself away from the podium, but when she did, she walked with the same grace and dignity that she was known for. Her posture was so incredibly different from Meredith's, who approached the podium like a cat with nothing better to do. It was hard not to respect the hell out of her when all she had to do was look into a crowd and it shut them up right away.

"I'm disappointed, Kirkwall." The crowd didn't answer. "Your chief has worked tirelessly to prevent crimes such as these, and this? This is how you thank her?" She shook her head. "You point your fingers in the wrong direction. You forget the real enemy, and for that I pity you." Meredith raised a hand. "But it isn't your fault. You have become complacent in your safety. You have forgotten the way it was not so long ago. But I urge you to remember that Kirkwall used to be a much darker city. I urge you to recall your old cautions. I urge you, that if you know anything, you come forward.

"You have heard by now that I have been heading the investigation, with assistance from Chief Vallen and First Enchanter Orsino." She gestured to an elf standing behind her. "So, please, if you are angry, blame me. If you know something, come to me. And if you are the one who has done this, then, in time, you _will_ answer to me."

When Meredith stepped down, it took only a moment for the crowd to begin screaming. Varric had no other word for it. She had barely made it off the stage before they swarmed it, and though there was nothing they could do, their panic was evident from where Varric stood. Leliana was mesmerized, while Cassandra looked away. Varric turned off the TV. 

"I don't understand that woman," Cassandra said quietly. "She confuses me."

"An interesting choice of words. She was hardly thanking Aveline, was she?" Leliana folded her arms over her chest. "Did she tell us that she'd cut Aveline off some days ago?"

"Would have gone over like dough in a punchbowl," Varric muttered. "This city loves Aveline."

"That did not look like a city that loved someone."

"They're angry. When this settles, they won't be." 

Cassandra frowned. "This entire _place_ confuses me."

"Don't expect things to clear up anytime soon."

Leliana stood. "She's keeping Aveline and the Enchanter close. She doesn't trust them?"

"Meredith and Orsino have never gotten along. She can't stand mages," Varric said. "Publicly she tolerates them. Privately, it's a different story." 

"It just doesn't make _sense_ ," Leliana said. "Perhaps if I sleep." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Thank you for keeping us here, Varric. I do appreciate it."

"Anytime." 

Leliana disappeared into the guest room, leaving Varric with Cassandra. She continued to watch the darkened TV, as if the answers to her questions would come to her in time and from nowhere. Eventually, she stood and bid Varric a quiet, "Good night." Varric nodded. Since his conversation with Bianca, she'd been quiet around him, almost careful. She spoke to him only when Leliana spoke to him, and Varric had decided that he didn't like it, and he'd have to put a stop to it.

In the morning, or later this week. The idea of asking her to acknowledge him, to look at him and recognize him, it convinced him that she would look into his eyes and know exactly what he was thinking. _Beautiful, frightening, desireable--_

He had reached new levels of _pathetic._

 

 

 

Sometime around four in the morning, Varric was deep asleep, and happy about it -- until, suddenly, he was not. A pounding had started up at his door, and when he limped into the living room, he caught sight of Cassandra with a pillow over her head, heard her groan as she tried to drown it out. Varric didn't even have the energy to shout at whoever was on the other side. His face would be enough to let whoever know that he was _not_ pleased, and this was a recent development that would never be repeated.

He wasn't expecting Aveline, though. Not at all.

"Good, you're awake." She brushed past him and let herself inside, pulling off her gloves. From the living room, Cassandra sat up, took one look at Aveline, and fell heavily back onto the couch. "I see you're still having _fun._ "

"You have no idea."

"Did you see what happened this evening?"

Varric rubbed his eyes. "I did." He spotted Leliana's head poking out from behind her door, but she didn't interrupt. "I'm out of couches, if you're looking to join."

"I'm scared, Varric. If you'd really like to know." She looked at him sharply. "Meredith...she's taken over everything. She's frightening and aggressive and...I suppose this is how she always was, I just never knew." She looked at him. "Is this...how it's always been?"

"She's never had your grace." 

"Be serious with me. Hawke said you knew her."

"I owed her, once."

Aveline sat down at the kitchen table. "For what?"

"Meredith kept my brother out of prison. When she needed a good PR piece down the line, I wrote it for her."

"I...had no idea."

Varric shrugged. "I don't advertise it. But if you're here because you want some secret _in_ on Meredith, I don't have it. I don't know her. We aren't friends, but you're smart to be afraid. If you weren't, I'd be the one freaking out." 

"Can she do this?"

"I don't know if anyone can do this."

"It's like a phantom. I keep trying to catch it, just like I've caught everything else." She stood. "I'm sorry I woke you. But...if she comes to you, if something strange happens. Tell me."

"Right." Varric walked her to the door, stopping to put a hand on her elbow. "Aveline, don't...don't make yourself crazy. Don't let her do that to you. Don't let all _this_ do that to you."

"I'll do my best, Varric." She nodded and pulled on her gloves again, disappearing into the night.

 

 

 

In the morning, Varric slept longer than he usually did, and found that Leliana had, once again, disappeared. He didn't bother to ask Cassandra where she might have gone, and wordlessly accepted a cup of coffee from her before retreating into his study. He was aware that they were alone, with no goal. Every movement she made outside his door, Varric catalogued without thinking. She showered and dressed, and he'd be a liar if he denied the thought of her under the water, sliding her thick leggings over her calves and thighs, slipping her arms through the sleeves of an oversized sweater that didn't keep Varric from continuing to map her, well before he could ever know her.

When he finally went into the living room, Cassandra was sitting on the couch, a folder in her lap, eyes glazed over while she stared at her notes. 

"Hungry?" Varric asked.

" _Maker_ , yes."

He laughed and went into the kitchen to throw together some pancakes, while Cassandra trailed after him. Varric had learned that she liked sweet things, and let her have the sticky plastic bottle of syrup all to herself. She smiled, and it squeezed his heart. "You cook breakfast often?" she asked.

"For people I like."

"I should feel lucky, then?"

"If you'd like." 

She laughed. "Maker take you, Varric."

"If I could only be so lucky."

For a while they ate in silence. Varric wondered how easily the words could slide off his tongue -- _I don't know what I feel, but it's bigger than I am, bigger than both of us, and it's happening too fast and not fast enough_ \-- but he couldn't say a word. She would look at him every so often, the look of a woman with something on her mind. He wondered if she had the same thoughts, if she ever _could_ have the same thoughts. 

"Varric."

"Hmm?"

It took too long for her to breathe, for her eyes to meet his and tell him something, maybe the same thing _he_ wanted to say, maybe _maybe_ \-- 

Varric's phone buzzed violently on the table, and he grabbed at it to shut it up -- but it was Hawke. And it had been so many days since he'd heard his best friend's voice, seen his stupid face. Varric answered without thinking, without wondering what he could want. 

_"Varric, we have a situation."_

"Hello, Varric, it's nice to talk to you, Varric, hope everything is going well for you Varric."

_"I'm not joking."_

Varric shifted the phone. "What's happening?"

_"I wanted you to hear this from me first, before anyone else could tell you--_

"Hawke. What's happening?"

 _"There's been another murder. I just..."_ Hawke exhaled, and he sounded exhausted. _"Varric, I'm sorry. It's Mother Annette."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, sort of a bridge from the middle as we make our way to the end. Because we're making our way to the end oh my gosh.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh I finally got this chapter finished. For some reason it just wouldn't _happen_ and then I scrapped everything, re-did the ending for this story in my notes, and this chapter came like a breeze. I hope you enjoy, because it's actually my favorite one yet.

_"Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing."_ \-- Sylvia Plath

* * *

"I'm _sorry_ Seeker Pentaghast, but I have my orders." The young Templar in front of them was hardly taller than Varric, which was saying something, and his uniform didn't fit well. Cassandra towered over him, forcing him back against the caution tape wrapped around Mother Annette's apartment. He swallowed thickly, but stood firm. "You must understand, Knight-Commander--"

"Oswin. I'll take care of this." Merideth came striding down the hall, and Varric choked down the bile he felt rising in his throat. The boy took off, but Cassandra stood firm. "Seeker. You've been told where you stand."

"I have not. I am still an emissary of the Divine. I have a _right_ to know what is happening, the Chantry--"

"Is no longer involved in this investigation, Cassandra. Your services have been useless and cumbersome. You have harrassed my men for the last time, and you will be leaving Kirkwall once your arrangements have been made. Have I made myself clear?"

"You have made it _abundantly_ clear that you have no intention of solving these murders--" 

There was a resounding _slap_ that echoed through the hall, and when Varric dared to breathe again, he knew that Merideth had struck Cassandra, and there was no going back.

"Do not _dare_ tell me how to handle my work in _my_ city, Seeker Pentaghast. If I find you near my crime scene again, I will have you arrested and charged with obstruction of justice, _do you understand?_ " 

Varric wondered if Cassandra would strike back. She hadn't even touched the cheek, and he knew, later it would bruise. Carefully, she seemed to straighten herself completely and took a step back.

"You have. We will take our leave. Come, Varric." She turned on her heel and began to make her way to the stairwell. Varric still couldn't find the words to understand what had just happened, and Merideth didn't even watch them go. He saw her go into Mother Annette's apartment, and that was that.

 

 

 

"Here," Varric said quietly. He handed Cassandra a bag of ice and a hot cup of tea. "That was--"

"How long have you known her, Varric?"

"A long time."

"She has always been this way?"

He sighed. "I don't...really know. I don't know her very well. I just know that she was willing to give me an out, once upon a time, and I was desperate enough to take it. Shit, she cut you--" Cassandra took the ice pack off her face and watched the blood drip onto the table. "Let me--"

"It's fine, Varric."

"You're bleeding on my furniture, Seeker. I like you, but I'm not big on bloodstains." She finally smiled and Varric felt relief wash over him. "Let me see," he said quietly." She turned the injured cheek to him, and he took a clean towel and wipe it. "I can't believe she fucking hit you."

"I saw it coming," Cassandra said coolly. "She has a predictable anger. If it satisfies her to strike me, then I will let her. But only once. Next time, she suffers."

"That's how you take down your enemies, huh?"

"I would like to think Meredith is not an enemy, but it does seem that way, doesn't it?" She hissed when he pressed an alcohol swab to the cut, surprised.

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

Varric huffed. "I am, though. For...everything. Things I've said and done. Shit you've had to do. Maybe if I hadn't written this stupid book--"

"I am beginning to think the similarities to your book were meant to confuse us," Cassandra admitted. "I think the killer is hiding something much larger, and using your work as a cover throws us off their trail."

Varric paused, on the verge of almost hysterical laughter. "So. You didn't really _need_ me." Cassandra's neck turned red and Varric rushed to cover his tracks. "I don't mean that in a bad way. I don't regret helping you, I just...you never needed to tie me up. Or live here. Or any of that."

"You _sound_ like you regret this."

"No, I mean--" _Ah, hell._ "I mean that...that if you'd seen that right away, you and I would never have met. At least not like this."

"I...suppose that is true."

"We wouldn't know one another."

Cassandra smiled. "Not as well as we do now."

"Do I know you very well?" Varric pulled his a fingers away from her cheek and smiled.

"Better than some, I think." Cassandra's voice was low, now, the kind that Varric could have written about for pages. Maker, her lips were so close to his. He could have spilled everything right there, told her that she was making him crazy, making him question everything about the kind of life he used to _want_ , and he could have said it without breathing. Or he could have kissed her, could have kissed her like he _wanted_ to kiss her, and she might have kissed him back, might have answered his burning want with her own desire.

"Seeker, I--"

"Am I interrupting?" Leliana was suddenly _there_ , had entered the apartment silently, and was smiling. "We have a visitor, you know." She frowned. "What happened to your face?"

Cassandra pulled back, taking the warmth with her, and stood. "The Knight-Commander took issue with our presence. Who is here?"

"I am." Cullen stepped from behind Leliana, given them a weak wave. "Hello."

"You look like hell, Curly," Varric said, going for the glasses in the kitchen.

"Do you have coffee?"

"I have something stronger." He poured a finger of whiskey and handed it off. "Drink up and sit."

"Thank you." Cullen downed it all in one go, settling heavily at the kitchen table. "I apologize for Meredith's behavior today, Lady Cassandra. She's...not been herself lately."

"Why do you suspect that?"

"Her general behavior, the way she speaks even to me. Something's changed, but I simply can't quite put my finger on it. She wasn't always like this, and whatever the difference, it's become incredibly unsettling. I think this case has effected her." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "It's effected us all."

"How has she changed?"

"Just...crueler, I suppose. Not violent, with today's exception. She wants to be alone, she wants us _all_ to be alone. She's cut out Aveline, cut out the Chantry. She's cut out _everyone_ and it worries me. We cannot do this on our own, and she's determined to. She'll run the whole thing into the ground and leave it unsolved before she allows anyone to help. But it's never been like this before." He straighted up. "I know she won't allow you into the crime scene, but I'm going to."

Varric shook his head. "Cullen, you could lose your job, and more than that."

"I know. Maker, don't you think I _know_ , Varric? But I can't let this continue. I can't let it _be_ like this anymore."

"It's not your fault."

"No, but if I let it go any further, I won't be able to live with myself." Cullen stood. "Tonight there's going to be a press conference. I'll be guarding Mother Annette's apartment. At eight o'clock, one of you will arrive at the scene, and I'll escort you through it."

"Leliana should go," Cassandra said. "Varric and I attracted too much attention this morning."

Leliana nodded. "Very well." She turned to Cullen. "You're sure about this? You're putting a great deal at risk, Cullen."

"I'm sure. It has to be done. Meredith can't do this alone, no matter what she's begun thinking." He sighed. "Thank you for the drink, Varric."

"You know where to find me."

"That I do." He nodded to Cassandra and turned to go, pausing at the front door. "She wasn't always like this, you know. There's still some of the commander I admire, deep down I think. 

Leliana put a hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps when this is over, you'll find that woman again."

"Yes." Cullen sighed and pulled on his coat. "Perhaps."

 

 

 

At seven-thirty, Leliana left for the crime scene. Varric had been ignoring Hawke for days, and the number of messages on his phone to _stop_ ignoring his best friend had gotten out of control. "I'm heading out for a drink," he said. Cassandra was warming herself some dinner. An angry bruise was blossoming on her cheek. "Want to come?"

"No," she said quietly. "I will stay, I think. I am...very tired."

"Of course." He paused as he pulled on his duster, looking at her. She slouched, just a bit, and the braid around her head had begun to come loose. She looked as exhausted as she sounded, and Varric figured she'd earned a night in. "Be safe?" he asked, and she nodded. "Right then. I'll...be back. Soon."

He was reluctant still to leave her, but she was a grown woman, and she knew what she wanted. Varric stepped out into the night air and took the train downtown to meet Hawke at the Hanged Man. It was a clear night, chilly and perhaps promising the city some snow, but you could never be sure. Varric loved Kirkwall in the winter. It took on a cleaner smell, punctuated by the scent of cinnamon and bread baking and wood burning. He was looking forward to it, though it would be different with Leliana and Cassandra gone. He'd gotten used to their presence in his life, at the very least.

When he found Hawke at the bar, his friend was already two beers in, and complaining about the music. "Andraste's tits, you'd think they'd stop letting Harris around the jukebox. _No one wants to hear your retro medieval garbage, Harris!_ " Hawke laughed and turned to varric. "Maker, you look like shit."

"It's cold."

"It isn't that cold, Varric. Get a drink and tell me what's bothering you."

"Nothing is bothering me."

Hawke snorted into his beer. "You're a horrendous liar, and I love you for it." The bartended put down a tankard of honeyed mead without Varric even ordering. "Come on, then. Tell me what's wrong."

"You'll laugh at me."

"I usually do."

Varric huffed, taking a long drink before setting the cup down on the bar. "Alright. I'll tell you. But if you tell Isabella, or Daisy, or--"

"I solemnly swear to wait at least three days before drunkenly spilling your secrets to all of our friends. And my girlfriend. Well, I think she's my girlfriend. She left a toothbrush at my apartment, that means something, right?"

"Hawke."

" _Okay._ Tell me."

So Varric opened his mouth and spelled out the last few days to his friend. He told him about Bianca and Bartrand, about what she'd done for them both and what she'd told him and how they'd ended it. He told Hawke about Meredith and the slap and how Cassandra had stood there like a saint and taken what Meredith had decided she deserved. He told him about how close their mouths had been and he told him that he was falling for her and it was the strangest feeling he'd had in years.

"Ah, love."

"Something like it."

"So you've fallen for the dark, frighteningly gorgeous Seeker woman then, have you?" 

"Decent summary."

"Well, you've got weird taste, I'll give you that much. She's beautiful for sure, but she's a bit tall for you, isn't she? Maybe we'll get you a makeout chair, or like a little ladder--"

"I hate you."

"You _love_ me and you tolerate my eccentricities. _Aveline!_ " Hawke suddenly shouted for her from across the bar, waving his arms. "What the hell is she doing here?" he said to Varric, quieter and sober now. Aveline came to them, her eyes a bit wild. "You look distraught," Hawke said. "Have the rest of Varric's drink, he won't finish it."

"Are those chantry women still living with you, Tethras?"

"They are."

"Tell them to be careful. Meredith's on the warpath--"

"She slapped the Seeker today," Hawke said. "Apparently she'd like to die."

"Maker, did she?" Varric nodded. "It's getting worse all the time. Cullen was in my office--"

"He told you he's worried," Varric said.

"Did he talk with you, too?"

"He's letting Leliana into Mother Annette's house tonight."

Aveline paled. "He'll lose his job for that. She'll ruin him, Varric, how could you let him--"

"We told him. You don't think we _told_ him?"

She shook her head. "I can't believe it's gotten this out of control. I've got a lead I'm chasing--"

"On the murders?"

"On Meredith." Aveline did finally take Varric's cup and drain it, setting it down hard. "She's mad, Varric. She's mad and there's something happening that she doesn't want any of us to know about. I fear the murders may uncover something sinister about her. The killer could know something, or it could be linked to her, I don't know." She ran a hand through her hair. "I have to go. I have a meeting with a contact. Go home, Varric, and tell those women to be careful." And she was gone, just like that, leaving Varric with an empty mug and more questions than before.

Hawke sighed. "I love that woman, but sometimes she can get a bit loony."

 

 

 

Varric took the train back home an hour later. He wasn't worried for the Seeker or Leliana. They were capable, they could take care of themselves if someone tried to come after them, though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't concered a bit. People knew his business, anyone who wanted to find out could know where Cassandra and Leliana were staying and could easily attack. Exhausted, Varric went up the stairs to his apartment and unlocked the door. Leliana's coat was still missing from the peg, but there was a soft light coming from the living room, and one of his records was playing softly in the room.

Cassandra sat, her bare feet on his coffee table, wine in her hand. She was reading a book, thumb stroking the edge of the glass. Varric stood and watched her for a moment before he stepped into the room. "That's a good music choice."

" _Maker_ take you, Varric." She nearly spilled the wine, closing the book with a snap and shoving it between the couch cushions. "I thought you would be longer."

"It's been two hours."

"Yes, well." Her cheeks were flushed and she held the glass in her lap, refusing to look at him. "How...how was your evening?"

"Eventful. Aveline showed up, she's on about Meredith, too."

"She should be careful. That woman is dangerous."

"Aveline would agree with you." Varric nodded toward the couch. "What are you reading?"

"It is nothing."

"Oh, then it's definitely something, Seeker. Don't make me fight you. It'll look ridiculous." With a huff, Cassandra pulled out the book and handed it to him. "Oh, you're not."

"I am."

"You are _not._ "

"Varric, please."

He laughed, turning the worn copy of _Swords and Shields_ over in his hand. "Seeker, are you a _fan?_ " 

"It is...a good story."

"It's a _terrible_ story. And this isn't even my copy!"

"I have...some of them." Varric raised a brow. " _Fine._ I have all of them. I...enjoy them."

"Do you now?"

"Yes. Now please give it back and let me finish it in peace." 

Varric laughed and handed it to her, but there was something in the way she watched him that made him pause, sliding the book into her hand and moving his palm over her wrist. Her breath hitched as he carefully curved his fingers around her, stroking the skin. The book fell between them. "Cassandra--"

"I have read all your books, did you know that?"

"I do now."

"You are...not as bad as I thought you would be." She flushed and smiled. "You've...grown on me."

"I'm a terrible weed of a dwarf."

"Not like that," she said quietly. She took his hand and turned it over, stroking it with her thumbs. She surprised him when she lowered her head and kissed it, mouth warm and wet with wine. "I care for you," she murmured.

"The, uh, the feeling is mutual."

"Is it?"

Varric nodded, taking the chance to pull her closer, putting one hand on her back and the other behind her neck. She gasped and in this position, her lips were perfectly suited to fall against his, a deck of cards on the table, the pages of a book in his hands. He kissed her, and she kissed him back, fingers sliding into his hair with a soft moan. It was a perfect moment, broken only by the abrupt opening of the front door. Cassandra flew away from him like fire, and Varric was left stranded in his place on the couch while the Seeker stood and drained her wine glass.

"Ah, I keep returning at the worst times," Leliana said with a smile. "Don't I?"

Cassandra huffed. "How did it go?"

"Well enough. Cullen was very sure about letting me in, and I gave him plenty of chances to change his mind."

"Was she like the last? In Varric's book?"

Leliana shook her head. "She was different. The last in your book had their throat slit, did they not?" Varric nodded. "No, I believe the killer did not intend to murder Mother Annette when they visited her. She was hit over the head with a bottle, and the blow killed her. Messy, not like the others. There was a struggle. I think they were there to talk with her and it did not go their way." She sighed. "I am exhausted. If you'll excuse me? You two can get back to whatever you were doing." Her door shut behind her, but when Varric turned to Cassandra, the moment had dissipated.

"Right," he said quietly.

"You should sleep," Cassandra murmured, refusing to look at him.

"I should, yes."

"Good night, Varric."

He nodded, heading toward his room. "Night, Seeker."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw the Hawke relationship is a bit ambiguous. Merrill or Isabella, take your pick.
> 
> Also shit gets real next chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! We are here. One more chapter to put a nice, haphazard bow on all of this, because it's me and you don't get satisfying endings, you've been warned.

_"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places."_ \-- Ernest Hemingway

 _"I can't say whether I am a good dwarf who knows business, or a good businessman who happens to be a dwarf. I've never gotten caught up in the trappings of economics or politics. I can't stand to be tied down to labels and ideologies. I try to raise my boys and do good by my wife and family, you know? Anything else is just faking it. I try, and sometimes I do good and sometimes I do bad. But I try. I really do."_ \-- Andvar Tethras, in an unpublished interview with the now defunct magazine _Kirkwall Surface_

* * *

It was hardly sunrise when Leliana shook Varric awake the next morning. He groaned and rolled over, swatting at her which she did not seem to care for. "Get out of bed, you ridiculous dwarf. There's something you need to see."

"Five more hours," he said, opening one eye to look at his clock. It was five in the morning. 

"No." That was her final word on the matter, and she left the damn door open on her way out, too. Sighing, Varric kicked off his blanket and pulled on some pants, padding into the living room. Cassandra was leaning forward on her elbows, sitting on the edge of the couch while Leliana stood behind her. "Meredith has made an arrest," Leliana said quietly.

"Shit."

On the screen, Meredith stepped in front of a podium. Every reporter in Kirkwall had gotten up at the asscrack of dawn to hear this, and the tension was palpable even through the screen. A hush went over the crowd as she began to speak.

 _"It is with a heavy heart that I address you here this morning. I know you have all been following this case, eager to see it through to the end. I, too, have been working tirelessly with my men and women to make sure your streets are safe. But this was an outcome I could not have suspected. An hour ago, the templars arrested Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford at the scene of the last crime, attempting to plant evidence."_ The crowd cried out.

Cassandra stood. " _No._ "

 _"I can assure you that I am as surprised as you, but we have taken him in and believe he is responsible for all six deaths. That is all I am at liberty to say and cannot take questions at this time. Please be patient with us as we deal with this advancement in the case."_

Leliana turned off the TV and looked at Varric. "Do you believe her?"

"No."

"Neither do I. I was with Cullen last night. I spoke to him at great length, there was nothing about him that suggested he was hiding something this important."

"Cullen wouldn't do this," Varric said. "I don't know him all that well, but I know he isn't a murderer. He's a good man, and he's helped Aveline and Hawke more times than they deserve. What time is it?"

"Fifteen after."

"I'm gonna make a call. We need to see Cullen and we need to see him fast." 

Leliana shook her head. "It's too early, we'll never get in. Not without--"

"A lawyer," Cassandra said. "But who do we know?" Varric smiled and went into his study. Leliana and Cassandra trailed after him as he scrounged around, looking in one drawer and then another, turning over a basket and sifting through the papers. " _Ugh._ Honestly, dwarf, I told you--"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll clean up later, mom. _Ah-ha!_ " He pulled out a card. "I've got just the man for the job. Well, not a man, really. Qunari."

Cassandra choked. "Pardon me?"

"Yeah, and he costs an arm and a leg, too, but I've got a plan." He went to get his phone. "Don't worry about a thing. The Iron Bull always pulls through."

 

 

 

It took a great deal of cajoling and promising to get Bull out of bed and at the holding cells of the Templar offices. Meredith had opened up another hall downtown for questions and would be entertaining the press for hours, so the place was dead quiet when the four of them walked in. And it didn't hurt to have _The_ Iron Bull negotiating. 

"You owe me big, Tethras."

"You know I'm good for a favor," Varric said. "I'm always good for a favor."

"Yeah, but this is gonna be a big favor. I don't do pro bono legal work for just anyone."

"How about we stop pretending I don't know who you're about to start working for and call it even, huh?"

Bull laughed and clapped Varric on the shoulder. "You always play dirty. I like that."

When Bull had gone to talk to the officer guarding Cullen's cell, Cassandra asked, "What exactly is this arrangement?"

"Bull is going to defend Cullen, if he needs to, for free. He's going to get us in there to see him, also for free. He's doing every damn thing he does today for _free_ , Seeker, and that's a damn miracle if there's ever been one."

"And you now owe him a debt."

"That's how it is."

Leliana shook her head. "You didn't have to do this."

"I did. Cullen may not be from Kirkwall, but he's been working for this city since the minute he got here. I'm not going to let him rot in prison or _hang_ for something he didn't do. We protect our own. Cullen's one of us."

"That is...noble. Beyond all expectations," Cassandra said quietly. She looked at him fondly, and Varric wanted to pull her down and kiss her, right there, but Bull was coming back with a smile on his face.

"We're in. We'll meet him in the interrogation room right over there."

"Guard present?"

"Outside the door." Leliana looked impressed. "I'm worth every penny, Nightingale." Bull leaned closer and chuckled. "Did Varric tell you I like redheads?"

"He did not. But I applaud your taste." Leliana breezed past him with Cassandra on her heels.

Varric patted Bull's arm. "Down, boy."

"Never." 

Cullen looked, if possible, worse than he had the day before. He was twitchy and manic, and when Bull sat down in front of him, he nearly fell out of his chair. "Please, _please._ "

"Captain, you need to calm yourself. I'm here as your legal representation."

"And you three?" Cullen asked. "Maker help me, I'm in enough trouble already, you _can't_ be here--"

"Cullen." Leliana held out her hand, but Cullen lifted his own showing her the cuffs and chains. She shuddered. "We want to help you. We know you didn't kill anyone."

"I didn't. _I didn't._ "

"Then why are you here?" Bull asked. "Meredith says it's you. Everyone's going to believe it's you. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if they don't even put you on trial. Just string you up in front of everyone. Maybe they'll cut off your head. Disembowel you, bring back the old ways--"

Varric kicked him. " _Bull._ "

"He's panicking," Bull said, shoving Varric out of the way. "He _needs_ to start acting like the damn warrior that he is. Man up, Rutherford. Spill it."

Cullen nodded, closing his eyes for a moment and swallowing. "Meredith came to my apartment last night. She knew I'd let Sister Leliana into the crime scene, but I knew she'd found out. She asked me why I'd done it and I told her that I worried we were cutting our ties too fast. We were leaving ourselves stranded. She told me we could do this on our own, and she thought that the killer was a Templar. I mentioned your books and she said it was just a smokescreen, it was all rubbish. She...she started having some kind of panic attack, I tried to calm her. I tried to tell her that we could do this, we just needed someone to help us--" He choked. "But then she just...calmed down. Right away."

"Then what?"

"She said that...it was unfortunate that I...would be another casualty. I thought she was going to kill me, but some of our men, they broke down my door and they arrested me, right there. She told me she'd fix everything. All of it. The mages and the Circle and the Order--"

"The _mages?_ " Leliana shook her head. "What did she mean?"

"I don't know. Meredith's never trusted mages, but she was always fair to the Circle, and fair to Orsino."

"Where's Orsino been for all of this?"

Cullen laughed. "Nowhere. Meredith didn't want his help, she wouldn't let him near the crime scenes and the first time he offered to put mages on the case she laughed him out of her office. He's kept out of sight, he doesn't want trouble. But Meredith wants to _fix_ it, that's what she said." He shook his head. "I can't understand this. I didn't kill anyone, I don't know what she meant--" Behind them, the door swung open and Meredith stood, bathed in blue fluorescent light.

"I _meant_ what I said, Cullen." She turned to them. "All of you, please, stand and leave this room. You, too, Captain. As for you--" She turned to Bull. "I will give you the option to stay with your friends, or go without trouble. You have ten seconds to decide."

Varric turned to him. "Go," he said. "Please."

"Tethras, you--"

" _Leave._ You've done enough."

Bull shook his head. "I haven't." But he left them anyway, and Varric was, for the first time in a long time, very afraid.

 

 

 

Meredith's men kept the four of them at gunpoint and she smiled as she paced in front of them. "I was worried this would happen. It would seem I can't leave my men unattended for very long, or they let you people walk all over them. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to fit this part into the story. The Qunari wouldn't have made sense, and I'll have to do _something_ about the beloved emissaries of the Divine. But _you_ \--" Meredith looked at Varric. "The dwarf who _wrote_ the murders, who lost his poor, poor mother when she _drank_ herself to death. Whose father left his family when times got hard, whose brother couldn't _handle_ what he found in the Deep Roads. You are, to be quite honest Varric, a walking tragedy."

"Fuck you."

"And a slow learner. You've never understood your place. You've never understood that every time you _thought_ you won, I got the better end of the deal. The favors and the lies and the coverups. You were so eager for my help when your reputation was at stake, when your brother's life was on the line. But now, you don't seem to have learned anything. I will martyr you. I'm willing to make you a hero if it means I get you out of my life for good.

"As for the two of you." She grabbed Cassandra by the chin, pressing a finger into the bruise on her cheek. "I suppose when Cullen kills you and mangles your bodies, it will make for a good sob story. And when Varric sees what's been done to his Seeker, he will lose his sad, lonely mind. He'll let Cullen kill him, too."

"You should write books," Varric said dryly.

"You aren't the only one with a flare for the dramatic," Meredith drawled. "It is a pity though, isn't it? That it's come to this?" She reached into her pocket, took out a piece of pulsing, red rock, and pressed it against her heart. "Ever since the lyrium, I've known what I needed to do."

Varric balked. "Where did you get that? Where--" Meredith struck him across the face.

"You _know_ where I got it, you fool dwarf! You and your brother and that little _whore_ you used to run around with dug it up and when you got arrested, I took it. I took it as evidence and it _told me_ what I needed to do."

Varric felt panic swelling in his chest and he couldn't breathe, he tried to lunge at her, to take it _away_ \-- "Meredith, that's red lyrium. It's messing with your head, you know what it does--" She hit him again, shoved him against the wall and wrapped her hands around his throat.

"I was going to _gut_ you and scatter you in your precious Lowtown, but I think I'd rather watch you _die._ " She was sobbing, she was _mad_ , and she said, "Mother Annette told me she forgave you. Did you know that? I went to see her and she told me she had prayed to her blessed Maker and Andraste wanted her to forgive you. That you were undeserving of her ire." Varric struggled and he saw Cassandra disarm her guard and aim the gun at Meredith, but two more were on her. "Look. She wants to save you. Did you tell her you were beyond saving? That you were going to _die_ , alone and pathetic, like your mother? After this I'll kill her. And the Nightingale, and Hawke--"

The door behind them _exploded_. Metal and wood flew in every direction. Leliana disarmed her guards swiftly and went to free Cullen, while Cassandra took the moment to shoot Meredith in the leg. She howled in pain, letting go of Varric and the shard of red lyrium. Hawke and Aveline and a dozen mage officers walked through the door. Varric admitted to himself, through his struggle to breathe, that it was all pretty damn cool.

"I'm sorry, have we missed the villainous monologue?" Hawke said, stepping over a few incapacitated Templars. "Maker, Rutherford. You look awful." Across the room, Meredith was trying to crawl toward a gun that had skittered across the floor. Hawke sighed. "Let's make this easy on all of us, shall we?" He held out his staff and froze Meredith's hands and feet to the ground. She screamed, howled, _thrashed_ \-- for a moment, everyone was silent as they watched her, as she wailed and sobbed. Hawke came to help Varric to his feet, trying to stop him when he went closer to her. "Varric--"

"She needs _help_ ," he said. "She's sick and she needs to be taken care of."

"She killed _all_ those people."

"And she shouldn't get away with it. But she's going to rot from the inside out if we don't get her to the hospital." Varric bent down and looked at her. She was wild, her eyes red and the lyrium whistling just out of her reach. "You knew what it would do to you. You saw what it did to my brother." She tried to get closer to him, but she was frozen, and when she couldn't, she screamed and spit and cried, and Varric finally stood. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Andraste watch over you."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, _well._ The, ah, mature subject matter got out of hand, and this story went from mature to explicit while I wasn't really paying attention. I had meant to write a sort of vaguely sexy thing and then _this_ happened, but I'm not sorry. It's done! It's finished! I can finally start writing other things without feeling guilty! I love you all, thank you for your patience. I believe this will be part of a series, but I never know these things until they actually happen. Hopefully the ending satisfies you.

_"[The] mystery or detective novel boldly upholds the principle, in defiance of contemporary sentiment, that infinite Mystery, beyond that of the finite, may yield to human ratiocination: that truth will "out." That happiness is possible once Evil is banished...[The detective] is the very emblem of our souls, a sort of mortal savior, not only espying but isolating, and conquering, Evil; in his triumph is our triumph."_ \-- Joyce Carol Oates, on the mystery genre

* * *

In the weeks after the dust had settled, Varric finally had time to understand. 

He spent more hours in a courtroom than he'd have liked to, and practically moved in with Hawke because he couldn't stand the tedious commute. In all the chaos of the depositions and the affidavits and testifying -- Leliana and Cassandra disappeared.

Varric returned home with his duffel bag, determined that he wouldn't step foot in Hawke's apartment for the rest of the year, and found his own decidedly void of the Divine's Left and Right hands. His guest room had been emptied, his living room cleaned, and there was single note on the kitchen table, written in Leliana's graceful scrawl.

_Varric -_   
_We find ourselves in a bit of a hurry. The Divine has called for us, and our time in Kirkwall must end. We are terribly sorry to leave you like this (and to leave your home in such a mess, truly), but it won't be the last you hear from us, that we can promise. Please, take care of yourself, and try to get some sleep._

_L &C_

Varric set the note down and went to his room. He was, in all honestly, exhausted from everything that had happened. Since Meredith had been hospitalized and eventually transferred to the sanitorium, he'd had very little chance to rest. Now, here, back in his own home, he threw his bag to the floor, collapsed on his bed, and slept like the dead.

 

 

 

He couldn't be sure when Leliana and Cassandra had actually left, but two weeks after he'd finally gone home, there was no word for them, and Varric considered the entire venture lost. And he would have been perfectly fine to leave it that way, but the memory of Cassandra's lips on his own haunted him. In good ways, sometimes, bad at others. He could remember their brief moment together vividly, still, and it gave him pause in the evenings when he walked by his couch. The book he had been writing couldn't be finished, and he doubted he'd ever write another mystery novel again. 

During the evenings, he'd been returning to his old romance novels -- not the ones he'd written, but the paperbacks he'd inherited from his mother. They were trashy little things that had served as his inspiration for _Swords and Shields_ , and in light of deciding to maybe never write another book again ever, Varric picked up the gratifying hobby of reading every single book his mother had left behind. The covers were atrocious, each one could give _Swords and Shields_ a run for its money -- horses on beaches with barechested dwarves and lithe, pouty-lipped elves astride them. He couldn't look at one without laughing near hysterically, and still, he enjoyed them.

The need to write came back slower than he would have liked, but eventually he found himself sitting in front of his computer, the words flowing quickly to the paper. 

It was just a silly story. A cop and a private detective, thrown together to solve an impossible string of robberies, bickering at every turn, having each others backs. It was small and it was practically nothing -- but it was _something_ , and Varric just couldn't let it go.

He printed the first manuscript, but didn't mail it to his publisher. Instead, it went to the Chantry in Val Royeaux, straight to the office of Cassandra Pentaghast. 

 

 

 

"Here's what I still don't get." Isabella speared a pepper with her knife, popping it into her mouth. "She sent Bull away. Why? She wasn't afraid he was going to tattle? Run off and tell someone?"

"Let's say you're a human police officer in Kirkwall," Hawke said. "A Qunari tells you that Knight-Commander Meredith is maybe a serial killer. What do you do?"

"Arrest him," Fenris muttered. "No one would have believed it. And yet, someone did."

"To be fair," Hawke said. "He only told me Varric was in trouble, and I should bring maybe twelve mages with me. He just has an honest face, what can I tell you?"

Varric, for his part, didn't join in. He loved his friends, more than he could ever say, but he wanted to get up and scream that the lyrium made her mad, it made her unstable, it made her thoughtless and deadly and how could she have ever carried out her plan? It was weak and she knew it, but the lyrium made it all real. Her resolve had slipped the night she killed Mother Annette -- she hadn't planned it, hadn't wanted to, and when the woman realized what was happening, she was forced to. 

But he stayed quiet, and laughed when he needed to, and shrugged off going to a different bar in favor of heading home.

"Are you okay?" Daisy's face was twisted with worry, so Varric hugged her tight, hoping to make it a little better.

"Just tired," he said. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

"Dwarvish stamina," Isabella said. "Go home, watch something dirty for me." 

"Sure."

Hawke put an arm around his shoulders. "Maybe you should call her," he said quietly, when the others were out of earshot. "I know you sent her the book--"

"It's not about her--"

"The hell it isn't. Don't pine, Varric. It's a bad look for you. Seriously, makes your face ugly. Uglier than usual." He laughed when Varric shoved at him and pulled his phone out of his pocket, shaking it. " _Call_ her, Varric. She isn't psychic." 

Varric shrugged and went to catch the train home. He needed to call the Seeker. He _wanted_ to call the Seeker. But he also wanted to live his life. His time with her had been intense, but brief. He would get over her, in time. She would disappear from his mind, eventually. All he needed was for the seasons to change a few more times, for people to forget what had happened. He needed to write another book, write about the herb festival coming in the summer. He needed to get back to what he was _good_ at, and women had never been his forte.

When he opened the door, though, and found Cassandra in his living room -- well, he'd have been a liar if he didn't say that hope won out. 

"Seeker."

She stood quickly, clutching something in her hand. "I...still had the key. I'm sorry, this was a terrible idea, I thought--"

"No." He shut and locked the door, panic setting in as he imagined her leaving him, maybe for good this time. "No, it wasn't terrible. It was perfect." He crossed the room, grabbed whatever he could of her, and pulled her down to kiss him. Time hadn't quelled the way he felt. It hadn't stamped out the burning, aching need for her in his heart. It had only bloomed bigger than he could imagine, and now she was here and there was no one to interrupt, no one to stop him from claiming her mouth, from letting her push him down onto the sofa and twist her fingers in his hair. 

"Every day," she said. "I think of you every day."

"Seeker--"

"And you sent me that _ridiculous_ story, I couldn't believe it." She pulled back, swatting him on the arm. "What is the matter with you, why didn't you call, or even _write?_ "

"Leliana said you were busy! I didn't think--"

"That is the trouble with men," she said. "Be they dwarves or otherwise." She pulled him to her again, kissing him. "They never _think._ "

 

 

 

For two days, they lounged around his apartment, kissing lazily when the mood struck, sleeping when they wanted to. Varric took her to some of his favorite places, introduced her properly to his friends, and felt happy for the first time in weeks. He read his mother's books to her, wrote more of the next installment of _Swords and Shields_ \-- with her input of course -- and cooked breakfast. They walked everywhere, talking and opening up and learning. Cassandra had a brother who had died, parents she had lost, family she didn't know. Leliana was her closest, and one of her only, friends. 

"But there is you now, I suppose," she said quietly. Varric took her hand when she offered it to him, leading her up the stairs to his apartment. 

When he turned on the lamp in the living room, the bulb popped, leaving them in the dark. He heard Cassandra's laugh, strange and new to him, and he found her hand again and led her down the hall. "I'll change it in the morning."

"Maker, how do you walk at night?"

"I don't. I'm a heavy sleeper."

"I have noticed this, yes."

"You know you snore a little," he said. "Right?" He turned on the bedroom light and Cassandra blinked, seeing him perhaps for the first time. "This...is too forward, isn't it?"

"No," she said. "It is exactly what I wanted." She leaned down and kissed him as Varric pulled them toward his bed. He had never wanted the attention of a woman the way he wanted hers, and never wanted to return the favor so badly. Laying back, he rolled them and slid his fingers under the hem of her shirt, pressing his lips to the smooth expanse of her stomach, stroking his thumbs just under the fabric of her bra. "Don't tease," she said, and stripped everything completely off. 

"That was good."

"I can adequately undress myself, yes." She sat up on her elbows while Varric took in the sight of her bare chest, moving to press his mouth to the curve of her neck. "I have imagined this," she said. 

"Yeah?" He pulled back. "What did you do?" he asked quietly, word punctuated with kisses. "What did you see?"

Cassandra moaned, threading her fingers in his hair, letting him trail his mouth over her breasts. "I--" She gasped when he took a nipple into his mouth. "I thought of you undressing me, kissing every part of me." Varric's hands moved down her body, reaching her jeans and undoing the buttons before beginning to slide them off with her underwear. "You make me come," she said, and Varric knew it took boldness to say it outloud. 

"Do you touch yourself?" he asked. "When you're alone and you think of us, do you?" He brushed his fingers between her legs and she hissed, nodding. "I've come thinking about you so many times since you left."

"I am sorry. I am sorry we did, but the Divine--"

"Please don't talk about the Divine while I fuck you."

Cassandra laughed. "Yes, alright." She kissed him again, working with the hem of his shirt and tugging it over his head. Her fingernails scraped gently over his chest, gripping the hair over his stomach every so often. Varric felt his mouth fall open, losing all rhythm in his own work as she made her way down his chest, over his hips to tug at his pants and push them down with her feet. He was hard already, and he groaned when the cool air hit his cock, eyes falling between her legs. "You are so honest with what you want," she murmured.

"I've talked around it for long enough." He kissed her knee, her thigh. "I'm done with that." Hovering over her cunt, he sighed happily. "I want _you._ " Quickly, his buried his mouth against her, tongue pushing inside her as she moaned. The taste, the feel, the scent of her -- it was incomparable. Her voice shot through him, and if he wasn't so desperate to eventually fuck her senseless, he might have her make him come with her voice alone. Varric was certain she could do it. 

He felt her fingers reach down and brush against her clit, touching his tongue as he fucked her, fingers gripping her thighs. He knew she was close, and the look she gave him when he pulled back could have dropped a weaker man. But Varric smiled. "I told you. I want to fuck you."

Cassandra groaned. "Yes, _fine_ ," she said, and moved to the headboard, laying on her back. 

Varric sat, his lap exposed to her as he pulled her back. "No," he said quietly. "Here." She put her knees on either side of his hips, looking down at him as he guided his cock in to her. "Like _this_ \--" Cassandra gasped as she slid down his length, and the feeling took Varric by surprise. The work was slow, intimate, and completely what he wanted. She became bolder with her body, taking him harder when she dared to, while Varric kept his hands steady on her hips. She leaned forward, mouth on his forehead, lips parted and wet, as his tongue stroked her chest, her breasts shook against him. Varric felt her cunt tightening around him, felt her hands gripping his tighter, felt his own body _awaken_ in response to hers, like it had been waiting for this exact moment. 

Cassandra _came_. She came and she screamed his name and arched her back and screamed again as Varric thrust harder and harder until there was nothing left of his rhythm but pure, unhindered _need_ \-- and he came with her, tipping her onto her back, his hips flush with her ass as he held himself until he was through. 

It was, without a doubt, the best thing that had happened in a while.

He pulled out and crumpled a bit at her feet while she recovered. Eventually Cassandra sat up, chest rising and falling heavily as she looked at him. They were sweating and panting and Varric was sure there was spit on his chin, and maybe on his face, but it didn't seem to matter. Whatever mess he was, he was a happy one, and he was pretty sure he was falling in love with this woman and her miles and miles of leg and arm. 

"How long until you can do that again?" she asked.

"I honestly don't know."

"We are doing that again."

Varric laughed, sitting up and pushing her back against the pillows to kiss her. "Believe me, Seeker, you don't have to tell me twice."

 

 

 

That night, in the quiet dark of his room, Varric finally told Cassandra about his brother. It was a strange time to tell her, naked and exposed and raw -- but it was his most important story, his most important secret, and he was probably and maybe in love with her, so he figured she deserved to know, whether she felt the same or not.

"So Bianca's need to keep your brother safe..."

"She felt responsible for what we found in the mines," Varric said. "The lyrium down there, it made him crazy, and Bianca had wanted to study it, so she was with him a lot when they went down there. He didn't like her to go alone."

"And Meredith?"

"Bartand almost killed someone who found their way to the Deep Road we were using. No one believed me when I said he was losing it, but Meredith had been there when he was arrested and she'd seen the lyrium. She knew what it did even then. She talked with the judge and Bartrand stayed out of prison." 

"She held it over you after all that time."

"It was a pretty hefty debt," he admitted.

Cassandra sighed. "You won't say she deserved what she got, will you?"

"No. I don't think anyone deserves what happened to her." Varric closed his eyes and could picture Bartrand's face so clearly, the pain he felt, the way he had been at his height of madness. "I think it's sad it happened at all."

"You are a good man."

"I'm alright."

"I like you."

Varric looked at her, lounging in his arms, eyes half-closed. "That's good enough for me." 

Cassandra hummed and was quiet for a moment, before she said, "I have to return to Val Royeaux, the day after tomorrow." She looked at him. "There's still so much work to be done."

"I figured as much."

"But I...I can return as often as I am able to." Cassandra sat up fully, cupping his face in her hands. "I care for you, Varric. Very much." She kissed him, pressing her forehead to his and Varric stroked her arm. "I can't...say what I want to. I am not as bold as you."

"I haven't told you I loved you," he said.

"No, not with your words." 

"Cassandra."

"I love the way you say my name," she murmured. "I love so many things about you, you insufferable dwarf."

"Come back to me, though."

"I promise."

"We can make this work."

"Yes," she said. "We can. We _will_."

Varric stroked her cheek. "I'll wait for you."

"And you will call me," she said. "Or write to me. You won't send me manuscripts out of the blue." Cassandra frowned. "Though you should still send them to me. But a warning would suffice. You nearly killed my secretary."

"A tragedy of our grand romance."

Cassandra shook her head. "No more tragedies. No more death. You and I are _alive_. Let us celebrate it."

Varric raised an eyebrow. "Right now?"

"Now," she said. "Tomorrow. Whenever we can." She smiled as he pressed her against the bed, kissing every part of her that he could reach, until the sun rose over the skyline, and tomorrow finally came.


End file.
